


Castiel and Crowley SE2 Episode 7: Don't Fear

by WatchingOne



Series: Castiel & Crowley: Next Genesis [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14479620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingOne/pseuds/WatchingOne
Summary: The Finale. This is it. Last Stand. End Game. Boss Fight. All the metaphors that you can think of. Can they do it? Can they save the world? Here...we...GO.





	1. Conversations with God(s)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is it. This 'Episode' will be the end of the major Castiel/Crowley story arc. The Finale. The end. Wow. Over two years and a half-a-million words, (pat yourself on the back, you've earned it for reading this much and sticking with it!) and now we'll be reaching the conclusion.  
> After this ten-chapter Episode, have no worries, there WILL BE MORE. I've planned three 'Bonus' Episodes featuring Castiel and Crowley in some cool stand-alone Episodes. Those will be published a tad differently, as there won't be a chapter per week on the weekend, rather, the entire story will be published at once as a complete unit. So it may take a little longer than you're used to, but trust me, they'll be worth it!  
> So, enough of the tears and the preludes, let's get into it, shall we, and as always, thank you SO MUCH for reading! And have fun!

**Conversations with God(s)**

Castiel examined the sandwich in his hand, looked up at the three figures sitting on the blanket with him, then took a bite. Charlie smiled at him as he raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise.

“It's good, huh?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows and placing a warm hand on his arm. Castiel nearly flinched away.

“Oh....I know. I'm sorry. It's been pretty rough on you lately, huh?” she said, looking around and down at the ground.

“Necessary. It made him strong enough for the battle ahead,” Judah said calmly, his eyes flashing.

“Wow. Seriously?” Chuck said, his hand falling away from where it had been supporting his chin as he shot Judah an incredulous look. Judah didn't budge, just held Castiel's eyes.

“You know that I'm correct.”

Chuck exhaled, shaking his head. He looked down at the ground. “Yeah, you're unbelievably harsh Judah, I'm with her on this one. Sorry, Castiel.” Judah snorted, turning away.

Castiel swallowed, turning his head to the side and warily eyeing the dark silhouetted figure standing on the hilltop looking down at them.

“Why?” he asked.

Chuck looked back up. “Why what?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Why place the Souls of Hell inside of me?” He paused, considering. “And why put the Souls of Heaven in Crowley? What's the point?”

“To restore balance,” Judah said, looking back.

“There's more to it than....”Charlie started to say.

“ ' Balance'?” Castiel interjected. “What 'balance'?”

Chuck held up a hand. “Let us explain....”

“....because it seems like there's no 'balance' whatsoever at the moment, the Old Ones are _winning_....”

Chuck stared until Castiel quieted down. “Can I explain now?”

Castiel sighed angrily and finally nodded.

“Michael and Lucifer being extinguished has unbalanced the entirety of Creation,” Charlie said, settling back on her haunches with her hands out behind her. “Their rebellion opened the _literal_ Gate for that absence to be filled.”

“Souls cannot reach their final destination, because the eternal balance of Heaven vs. Hell is now non-existant. I had one option to harness that limitless power and keep it from being consumed by the void of the Old Ones,” Judah continued.

“We, you mean _we_ had an only one option,” Charlie interrupted.

“Yes, yes,” Judah answered, waving his hand in the air. “ 'We'. All of us. One being. Of course.”

Castiel raised his eyes. “You are all God....the literal Holy Trinity. Father, Son, Holy Spirit,” he said. “'We' is accurate, Judah.”

“Why can't that be 'Mother'?” Charlie muttered.

“What?” Castiel asked, confused.

Charlie shrugged. “Father, Son, _Holy Spirit_ , you know? Why can't it be Father, Son and Mother?”

“Because it's disgusting on _so many_ levels, that's why,” Chuck replied.

Charlie shrugged. “Sexist.”

“Hey! Who was it again that came up with the idea of sexes in the first place?”

“ “ _We_ ' did,” Judah interrupted, exasperated. “Wasn't that the whole previous point? Can _we_ get back to the subject, please? Time is short.” He glanced up to the top of the hill.

Castiel followed the conversation with his eyes, worry showing on his brow.

“Are....are all of you, um, OK?”

“Hm? What do you mean by that?” Chuck asked.

“I mean....you are all...I don't know how to explain it...”

“Unhinged? Unbalanced? Crazed?” Judah sneered. “ _Of course we are_ , Angel, pay attention! The Universe is unraveling, and taking us with it!”

Charlie sighed loudly. “Manners, please?” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Anyway,” Chuck said loudly, leaning forward. “Lucifer first breached the integrity of the Gate when he tapped into the Void and created Demons. His Angelic power, the power of Creation itself, became corrupted.”

“Fast-forward a few millennia,” Charlie continued, “and Michael gets trapped in the Cage with him. Lucifer convinces him that by tainting his blood as well with Demonic energy, they could escape their prison and take control of the Universe.”

“This created the first truly dangerous imbalance,” Judah said. “The power of one Archangel being corrupted with Lucifer was bad enough to let Demons and monsters into this world, when Michael added his power to that list, it became much, much worse - the walls began to crumble down.”

“And then they ended up getting themselves killed,” Chuck chimed in, picking up the explanation. “Which created a massive vacuum of power, allowing the Old Ones to rush through, bringing their Void with them.”

“We had to stop that,” Judah said.

“So, sorry, we used you and Crowley to do it,” Charlie continued.

“How so?” Castiel asked.

“You two are the default leaders of Heaven and Hell,” Chuck answered, shrugging.

“Because everyone else is dead,” Judah added. Chuck closed his eyes, blowing a breath out slowly.

“ _Thanks_ , Judah,” he said after a second, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Sooooo, we needed a stop-gap to fill the roles of Michael and Lucifer.”

“And the only way to do that,” Charlie broke in, “ was to mirror the Angel/Demon mixture that Michael and Lucifer had become. So we added Demonic to you with the Souls of Hell, and Creation energy to the Demon with the Souls of Heaven. Since we had to protect the Souls anyway, it seemed like a no-brainer.”

“The only problem is, the imbalance still exists,” Judah sighed. “Giving you this power is keeping the Old Ones from fully manifesting in this dimension, but it's not enough to hold them back forever.”

“So, what do we do about that?” Castiel asked, reverting back to a familiar soldier mode. “They have Crowley in custody, and I cannot resist the call from Aleister much longer without your help. They are an eyeblink away from controlling all of that power.”

“We let Armageddon happen. The Biblical one,” Judah replied calmly.

“That's _your_ plan....”Charlie retorted, squinting in anger at Judah.

“Life feeds Death, Death feeds Life, that _is_ Creation, it just so happens that we need and have more Death to work with in this case,” Judah answered.

“We haven't even let Creation get started back up really,” Chuck interjected. Charlie hushed him and shot him a warning look. “Oh....yeah, sorry....”he said sheepishly, looking away, deliberately avoiding Castiel's gaze.

“No....what did you mean by that?” Castiel shot back. He paused, thinking. “And you mentioned 'This dimension' just now....we _are_ the only remaining dimension....” He watched their faces carefully. “....isn't that true?”

They didn't answer. Chuck finally shook his head. “Castiel, while I would love to answer your question, considering what is about to happen, it really isn't the best time to do that.” He looked sincere and apologetic, holding his hands out to the side. “Please, just....we don't all think like Judah here....”

Castiel frowned. “What do you mean? What's about to happen?”

They all looked up to the crest of the hill. Castiel followed their gaze. The silent figure began walking down towards them. Castiel caught his breath and then eventually nodded in resolve when the sun illuminated the figure's face.

“The final play, Castiel. I hope that what you know now helps,” Chuck said. “I....wish it was more.”

Castiel put his hands on his knees and stood up, watching the figure get closer and closer, feeling the trap closing around him.

“At least I know why you did it, giving the Souls of Heaven and Hell sanctuary within us,” he said quietly. “I just wish you would let me know how to actually _protect_ those Souls....” When he received no answer, he turned away from the approaching figure and back to the picnic blanket.

They were all gone. Castiel's shoulders slumped as her turned back.

“That's Father for you, huh?” he asked, looking up at the silent form, who had stopped within arm's length and was just staring blankly at Castiel, waiting for him, it seemed. Castiel sighed wearily, bracing himself for the return to the real world, where he would be exposed to the summons from his Master, exposed to the crippling pain of resisting it once more.

Or maybe the chase was truly over. Maybe there was no point in resisting anymore, he considered, looking the figure up and down.

“Let's get going then, Gabriel,” he said, moving towards the other silent, still Angel. “We have a Universe to save....or destroy....I guess we'll have to see which it is.” He frowned as Gabriel made no movement, gave no signs of seeing Castiel there at all.

“Gabriel...? Gabriel, what's _wrong_ with you....?”

The former Archangel's arm shot out in a flash, his palm gripping Castiel's forehead. There was pain and the screams of seemingly a billion Souls instantly drowning out his every thought, until, finally, he collapsed to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Gabriel inclined his head to the side, then, wordlessly, bent down to grasp Castiel's ankle, and began the task of dragging him back up the grassy hill....back towards the Huntsman and the Wild Hunt, his quarry in hand, his task complete.

A small smile flashed across his face, and was gone in an instant.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

# Everything That You Ever Wanted

Cartaphilus watched as the sky split open.

A figure descended from the dark clouds. Great, almost invisible black wings spread out into the clouds, seeming to blend with them, stretching into their rolling crests and hills where flashes of lightning rolled and grumbled angrily. Hanging limp from one of his arms was the unmistakable figure of Castiel – the trenchcoat was billowing out in the wind – unmoving, bent at the waist, his arms waving in the wind.

Gabriel landed gently, letting Castiel fall to the ground in a heap. He looked up with that unnerving blank stare at the Huntsman, who nodded in seeming approval.

“Well done, Hunter. Your Prize?”

Gabriel smirked and held up a hand, palm up. The air spun and flashed, and a single black feather materialized. The Huntsman nodded again.

“And the rest?”

Cartaphilus frowned, not understanding. “The rest....? The rest of what? The deed is completed. We return Castiel to Nyarlathotep and be done with this....”

Gabriel nodded at the Huntsman and stepped back. The Huntsman raised a large steel gauntlet and beckoned into the swirling, growling mass of the other members of the Hunt. Several of the Hunters parted, and then Cain and Sam Winchester shuffled forward to stand over Castiel. They reached down to his back, and Cartaphilus watched as two similar feathers flew up from thin air into their waiting hands.

The Roman relaxed, understanding. “Ah yes, they were all promised this Prize. _That_ was the rest.” The Huntsman did not respond. Cartaphilus turned towards him. “Can we go now?”

The Huntsman inclined his head in affirmation, then thrust his closed fist into the air and made a circling motion. The Wild Hunt obeyed instantly, yapping and growling in excitement as they formed up behind him. Gabriel reached down and easily slung Castiel over his shoulder like a sack, and they began to run.

Faster and faster they sprang and leaped through the lightless night, passing vehicles speeding down the highway almost as if they were standing still. The effect was dizzying. One thought throbbed in Cartaphilus' head; finish the Hunt. Return the Prize.

He had done it. Soon, they would control the Souls of Heaven and Hell, and God would have to answer to them.

And with that power, he would strike Him down, as the world burned all around them, being ripped apart for consumption by the onslaught of the Old Gods.

Justice. _Finally_ , justice.

 

***

 

They entered the floor of the large hanger, and all of the heads of the entranced soldiers and Resistance fighters turned as one towards them, smiling in approval. Cartaphilus noticed that Crowley had awakened in the meantime, and was glaring at him as he strode in. He gave him a sarcastic smile of pure triumph as he turned and grabbed Castiel's limp form in one hand and flung him unceremoniously across the floor to land near Crowley's feet, skidding to a stop.

Crowley looked down, saying nothing. After a few moments, he looked up at the Roman, one eyebrow raised, and a small smile on his face.

He began to clap slowly.

“Oh, well done,” he said. “Won't your Masters be _so pleased_ with you....” He looked up at Sam and Cain, nodding at them, his gaze finally settling on Gabriel. He nodded, his grin widening. “Oh yes, well done....”

“ _Fergus_ ,” Rowena hissed, slapping him on the shoulder. Cartaphilus frowned, watching the exchange.

“So glib....” he said, walking slowly towards the pair. “You would think that you would be a little less spirited, following yet another defeat amongst your _very_ impressively long line of them.”

Crowley coughed, raising his fist to his mouth, trying to take the smile off of his face, gathering himself with his hands clasped in front of himself to look serious. He was making a poor show of it, and the Roman began to feel a slight nudge of doubt, somewhere deep within him. He came to stand directly in front of them, head tilted to the side.

“What is it? What are you hiding....?” he asked, leaning forward to stare Crowley in the eyes. “A last play, perhaps?” He smiled. “There is _nothing_ that you can do now. You're finished. We have everything that we need to end this.” He noticed that Gabriel, Sam and Cain had shambled over to stand with Rowena, Crowley, and the rest of the Coven, the blank expression still on their faces. Cain walked past Crowley, who put a hand on his shoulder, staring into his blank eyes. He gave a small shake and moved to stand next to Gabriel, continuing to stare off into space.

Cartaphilus watched this and sighed. They were still in thrall to the Hunt. He was as well, he could feel the adrenaline rushing through him, blood pumping, waiting for the next prey.

He turned back towards the large mass of the Wild Hunt, the Huntsman standing in their midst, towering over them.

“Your task is complete, you are released. Go back to your realm, and release the members of the Hunt.”

The Huntsman nodded. A dark cloud began to form over his head, expanding and unrolling until it covered nearly the entire ceiling of the warehouse. They began to dissipate, curling up into the cloud, until their figures were gone. The cloud shrank and then finally, it too, had disappeared.

Cartaphilus felt the immediate release. He slumped a bit and took a steadying breath. Time to get Nyarlathotep, he thought, and finish this. He glanced over with a smile at Crowley, who had knelt down beside Castiel, with Rowena hovering over him as well. They were trying a spell to revive him. He shook his head.

“Awake or asleep, it doesn't matter to me,” he called out. “Prepare yourselves.” With that, the Roman nodded to himself and strode off to the Old Gods antechamber.

 

***

 

Nyarlathotep was floating in the air when Cartaphilus walked in. His eyes opened slowly, a Darkness within them that spoke of the Infinite – and what lay beyond that.

“It is done,” the Old God stated, rather than asked. “I can feel the Souls here next to me. So _close_....”

The Roman smiled. “Shall we get on with it, then? I have waited so very long.”

Nyarlathotep's legs unfolded underneath him, reaching the floor, and he strode forward, smiled and placed a hand on the Roman's shoulder. “You, my friend, while you may have outlived so many mortals, have truly no concept of 'waiting a long time'.” He looked away, his eyes closing as he took in a big breath through his nose. “All those Souls....” he whispered. “I.... _Hunger_....”

Cartaphilus felt a jolt of alarm. “Master Aleister....those Souls are not for _eating_....we need those to summon the Lightbringer.....”

Aleister opened his eyes, visible annoyance on his face. “He will come. Even the mere _threat_ of anything happening to those Souls will bring Him....” He frowned. “In fact, I am shocked that He has not come already....” The Old God's eyes narrowed. “Unless....”

His hands shot out and grabbed the Roman's shoulders in an icy, cold, unbreakable grip, his eyes wild. He shook Cartaphilus hard.

“The Souls! They are still here....of course they are! I can feel them....but....God is not! God is not!! What is this?! What trickery?!” Why is He not come?!”

Cartaphilus' head swam as he tried to formulate an answer to the mad ravings of the Old God. “It is so....the Souls are here, the Wild Hunt delivered Castiel exactly as promised. And Crowley is still our captive....Aleister....Aleister! We have what we want....don't you see that?”

The Old God's chest heaved, his eyes flipping and rolling wildly in a panic. “Not a trick?” he whined. “Not a trick...not a trick...not a trick...yes...everything we need....Souls are here....yes. Let us go. Let us go, now....we need to bring the Lightbringer here....bring Him here and break Him....break Him, killHimeatHIMKILLHIMSMASHHIMDEVOUREATEATEAT!!!” he raved, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. He released the Roman, who gasped and fell to one knee in pain, watching the Old God rush from the room. Cartaphilus' head reeled. This was the first that he'd witnessed the legendary madness of Nyarlathotep. He took a deep breath and stood up, straightening his tunic. He strode out of the antechamber, steeling himself for the ritual to come.

 

***

 

Crowley watched as Aleister came scrambling out of his chamber like an animal, wild-eyed and grunting like a boar. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Crowley. He raised his arm, pointing at them.

“Bring them! Bring them to me!!” he screamed, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. “Bring me Castiel and Crowley!!!”

Crowley looked down at Castiel, who had just been awakened. His eyes were unfocused as he looked back up at Crowley.

“Crowley....what....what happened....?” His eyes widened a bit as he clutched at his chest. “Where....?”

“ _Easy now_ , Castiel,” Crowley cut in. “All part of the game. Get ready.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, not understanding, but finally nodded.

“Here they come, Castiel. Stay strong.”

Several arms of the Resistance members hauled them up, dragging them towards Aleister, who stood waiting, wringing his hands.

“Bring them, bring them, yes....time....time is now!” He gestured towards the antechamber, where Cartaphilus was waiting. As they were bodily dragged past them, he smiled at Crowley.

“I'm going to enjoy this,” he whispered.

Crowley smiled back. “Oh, I doubt that very much.”

The smile dropped from the Roman's face. “Bravery. Will wonders never cease?”

Aleister hustled past them and gestured in the air, great red rifts of energy appearing in the air, with black smoke pouring out in slow curling tendrils. They wrapped themselves around Castiel and Crowley and hauled them into the air, the door to the Antechamber slamming shut.

 

***

Rowena squinted at the door as it closed, then let out a breath of air that she felt that she had been holding for a very, very long time. Her shoulders relaxed as she smiled a wry smile and turned to the Voodoo Priest from her Coven.

“Now, if you please,” she said.

The Priest nodded and flung his hand out. Three small pouches hung from each finger. He took each one off and flung the dust inside into the air.

Sam blinked, his eyes clearing. He raised a hand to his temple, rubbing it.

“Ow, that's one hell of a headache....” he mumbled. He focused on Rowena and gritted his teeth. “Did it work?”

She was looking at Cain and Gabriel who also now looked awake and alert. They smiled in unison.

“Oh yeah. It worked,” Gabriel answered. “It's clobberin' time.”

He flung his hands out to the side, and red fire began to glow from his fists.

Cain did the same, blue-white light glowing from his.

The Resistance members, bewitched soldiers and Deep Ones all around the Hanger looked towards them, a look of alarm appearing on all of their faces.

“Come get some,” Gabriel smiled, raising his fist.

 

***

 

Aleister raised his arms and began extracting the Souls from Castiel and Crowley.

The Roman waited at his side, smiling up at them as they began to scream in pain.

The Old God began to frown.

“Wait.... _where_....?”, he stuttered, spinning around wildly. “I....I can still _feel_ them...the Souls are _here_....”

“Master Nyarlathotep....what is the matter?” Cartaphilus asked, feeling a cold fear forming in the pit of his stomach.

Aleister stopped casting about, his hateful gaze turning back to Castiel and Crowley, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a snarl.

“You don't have the Souls.”

Crowley smiled back at him.

“Oops,” he said quietly.

There was an enormous shuddering explosion from the Hanger outside of their door, the walls of the antechamber rattling like they would crumble apart. Blue-white and red light flashed under and around the door frame. Cartaphilus spun towards it, his jaw dropping open. Aleister rushed out of the door, screaming in fury, the very air around him crackling with the power he held. The energy bands holding Castiel and Crowley disappeared, and they returned shakily to the ground.

“ _The Souls_....?” he croaked.

“Switched to other vessels, I'm afraid,” Crowley answered holding his hands open.

“But the Wild Hunt! The Pact!”

“Castiel delivered, whole and sound, the Souls with him,” Crowley answered, grinning. “But you never said _who_ had to be carrying those Souls....”

Cartaphilus looked back to Crowley. “ _Gabriel_....”

“And I gave mine to Cain. The only two beings in the room with the capacity to carry them....”

“I would have detected that much power coming from them!”

Crowley shook his head. “Not if their souls are masked behind a shroud where only their vessel is in control....like a zombie spell....”

Cartaphilus' eyes narrowed. “A zombie...” He closed his eyes. “The Coven member.....”

Crowley smiled. “We had you from the moment you asked us to help you find Castiel. The old Coney Island Cup Game. You've been had, Roman.”

Cartaphilus drew his sword, shaking his head. “No matter. The Souls are still here. We'll take them from Cain and Gabriel then.” He turned back to them and snarled. “And then, I'll come back here to kill you. _Slowly_. All you've done is delay the inevitable.”

Crowley shrugged. “If you say so....oh.....are you _really_ going to just head out there all by your lonesome? I mean, what with Aleister being beaten and all, do you think you can take them all on, all by yourself?”

Cartaphilus sneered. “' _Beaten_ '? What do you mean 'beaten'?”

Crowley's eyes twinkled. “Do you hear any fight going on out there right now?”

Cartaphilus frowned, turning back to face the open door to the hanger, just realizing that it had gone quiet in the past few moments. “Impossible. Not even the power of Heaven and Hell can stop Nyarlathotep....”

Crowley cocked his head to the side. “Whoever said that it was just Heaven and Hell out there?”

Cain and Gabriel strode into the room and stood to either side of the doorway. Cartaphilus braced himself with his Gladius held in both hands, sweat breaking out on his forehead. A figure walked up between them, unceremoniously dumping the unconscious form of Aleister Crowley at his feet. Cartaphilus, stunned into silence, looked up slowly at the man standing there.

“ _The Cambrion_ ,” he whispered.

Jesse Turner smiled back at him. “Ready for Round Two, jackass?”

The Roman screamed in rage, then, summoning the power of the Old Ones coursing through him, raised a fist into the air.

A black rift appeared in front of him, the air tearing itself apart with a horrifying shriek. He rushed through it and vanished, the rift closing up behind him.

Jesse shrugged. “I guess not.” He glanced up at Crowley and Castiel. “So, we win?”

Crowley nodded, sighing. “For now, yes.” He looked down at Aleister and frowned. “Better lock _that_ up before it comes to. Get my mother on it.”

Castiel looked at him, then at Gabriel and Cain. “We....I think we need those Souls back.”

Crowley turned towards him. “Did you find something out about that?”

Castiel grunted in exhaustion. “Oh yeah, you could say that. C'mon, I'll tell you everything.”

 


	3. Conversations with Death

# Conversations with Death

Cartaphilus was the witness.

He watched the humans fight back against the full invasion of the Old Ones. He watched as they made the decision that _they_ would be the ones that would choose the method of their own inevitable demise.

He watched as they unleashed the full power of their nuclear arsenal, the bombs striking with such enormous energy and power that the sky went black, and the planet's axis literally shifted it's orbit.

He blinked this vision of the future away.

The next one....

The Old Ones were forced to acknowledge that this realm was too protected, that they could never fully manifest here with Castiel and Crowley controlling and guiding the forces of the newly created Heaven and Hell, bringing the mighty forces of Creation itself to bear.

The Old Gods decided to wait. Time had no meaning for them. They would need another Eternity to try again.....

No.

Not this either.

He blinked. Again. And again.

His eyes fluttered violently, thousands of futures, thousands of scenarios, every literal flap of a bird's wings determining the new outcomes....

Millions of futures.

Billions.

He floated in the Void, outside of Time and Space, in the realm of the Old Ones, drifting, dreaming, searching for the one glimmering hope, that one place where revenge against God would be fulfilled, knowing that if he could only  _find_ it....

He knelt gasping for air on his knees in a meadow, the dampness of the grass pressing through his pant legs into his knees. His breath misted lightly in the early morning air.

Where was he?

He saw primordial gardens, humans, practically naked and uncivilized running through them, a Cornucopia of food....

“Eden.”

Cartaphilus spun at the voice. A man, tall, stood there smiling down at him. He wore a white suit, and was holding an apple in one hand.

The Roman needed no introduction. The  _taint_ of corruption hung all around this creature, despite the pristine suit and shining, clean features.

“ _Lucifer_ ?”

The tall man gave him a mocking half-bow. “And on the first try, no less. Color me impressed.”

Cartaphilus, head reeling in confusion, stood up, turning around slowly, taking in briefly all of the color and light around him, the pollen drifting slowly in the air on a gentle breeze and dancing in the dawn sunbeams. He took a few hesitant steps towards Lucifer, noting how the light seemed to diminish the closer he got to him.

“This is impossible.”

Lucifer shrugged. “I would disagree with that, just on the general principle that we are both actually here.”

Cartaphilus shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “You were destroyed.”

Lucifer gave him a mocking frown, then, exaggeratedly and slowly, made a show of pinching the skin on his wrist.

“Ow. Nope. Still here.” He titled his head. “Maybe I'm just a remnant? An echo? Or.....”he smiled and looked around him. “.....maybe I've just been hiding here the whole time.”

The Roman smiled tightly, patronizingly.

“You are merely a hallucination. All remnants of you were destroyed. I saw this from Death himself. There are no remnants, no hiding places. You are dead, and I am dreaming.”

Lucifer's eyes twinkled. “Huh.” He shrugged again and took a bite from his apple. “Well, if you say so.”

Cartaphilus turned away, looking around. “I do. Now, to the matter of finding out what I came here for.”

He searched around the open glade, looked through the neatly ordered trees, thought he caught the flash of the flank of a creature that looked like a unicorn in the distance, prancing away from children playing down by a gently flowing stream....

He completed a round circuit of the meadow, and noticed the hallucination of Lucifer watching him curiously.

The Roman sighed and walked back over.

“Why do you say that you came here for a reason?”

Cartaphilus sighed. “I am looking for a way, a future, where I can confront God and destroy Him, if you must know.”

Lucifer barked out a laugh, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Oh, good luck with that one. I've been trying that since time began. Not exactly something a mortal can pull off, I would wager.”

Cartaphilus rounded on him, snarling. “I am no mere mortal.” He felt a wave of power rush through his veins, the screams and struggles of the Old Gods possessing his form clawing and scratching at his skin like a prison they were trying to escape. Lucifer narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, no....I stand corrected, it seems.” He took a bite again, his eyes never leaving the Roman. He gestured with a finger while holding the half-eaten apple. “Those are some seriously nasty things that you've allied yourself with. Are you sure you aren't going a bit too far?”

Cartaphilus huffed. “I did what is necessary to end this.”

Lucifer studied him for a moment longer. “That's not all you've been up to, is it?”

The Roman frowned in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Lucifer leaned closer, and, strangely, sniffed the air. Cartaphilus gave him a puzzling look.

“You smell like Death itself,” Lucifer whispered. He straightened up and away from the Roman, looking him up and down, a matching puzzled look on his face.

“Who are you, exactly?” Lucifer asked slowly, drawing a hand over his chin, walking a slow circle around the Roman.

“I am....Cartaphilus, or, I was....the Roman cursed by God for driving a spear through Jesus' side. Left immortal and forgotten until the world ends....”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “'Jesus'? Wow....that's....you do know how far out of time you are right now, don't you?”

Cartaphilus shook his head. “Time has no meaning to me anymore.”

Lucifer stopped circling him. “Oh yes it does. I don't care if you've aligned yourself with those creatures from the Void or not.”

The Roman smiled humorously. “I'm afraid you're mistaken.”

Lucifer frowned again. “How did you get here?”

Cartaphilus waved a hand. “I told you that I came here for a reason.... _how_ I got here is because I am searching all possibilities, all dimensions, all timelines for a way to bring about my victory, as I've also explained to you. I've manifested it for some reason that I do not as of yet know. Try to pay attention.”

Lucifer smiled. “Brash. I like it. But....I wonder....of the two of us, who would be better suited to heeding that advice?”

The Roman turned back towards him. “Are you saying that I'm missing something?” He sighed. “Allright then, I'll play along. Since you are obviously some manifestation of my sub-conscious trying to send me a message, why don't you give me a clue as to what I'm missing?”

Lucifer shook his head. “As I've said, I am no imagination. You say that you  _manifested_ this place...” He smiled slowly and then and closed his eyes, bringing his chin down to his chest. “Oh, man, Dad, did you ever screw this guy over....”

Cartaphilus felt a cold chill. “What do you mean by....”

“Oh, don't you see it!?” Lucifer shouted loudly, raising his arms into the air and startling some local fauna in the bushes that scampered away with a squeal. “You were hanging out with Death, you said?”

Cartaphilus cocked his head. “Yes?”

Lucifer leaned closer. “OK, I'm only going to tell you this once, so stay with me here. There are only two elements to pure Creation, ok? Life and Death. With me so far?”

Cartaphilus felt a flash of annoyance at Lucifer's tone, but nodded curtly. “Of course.”

“Good. Now, ask yourself, who in the entirety of God's Creation, would have the  _actual_ keys to unleashing the potential dimensions and timelines that stem from Life and Death? The sheer  _power_ to create worlds?”

Cartaphilus pondered this, then shook his head. “Almost everything, from what I've seen of it. Every decision, every dream, every thought of living creatures creates a whole new timeline.”

Lucifer smiled broadly, raising a finger. “Exactly! Oh, you're a bright one, Roman. You see, that's the power of living Souls. They can create whole new dimensions....tell me, from your perspective, and I'm basing this guess on the...er... _friends_ that you have swimming around your corrupted soul here....” Almost as if in response, Cartaphilus felt the Old Ones stir.

“Tell me....” Lucifer continued. “The Old Ones are loose, they've broken through the Gate and have consumed nearly all of Creation? They've found a way.....?”

Cartaphilus nodded.

“Oh, that's  _rich_ ....” Lucifer coughed out a laugh again, turning away. “Sorry,....but sometimes you have to admire the Old Man....”

“I assure you,” Cartaphilus replied icily, “I do not admire God. I hate every fiber of His being.”

Lucifer cleared his throat and considered the Roman once more. He nodded. “Oh, I believe you. Trust me, I believe you. And boy, do you have more reason than you know to do so...”

“What are you prattling on about!?” Cartaphilus screamed, his patience running out.

“OK, ok....” Lucifer said, gesturing with his palms towards him. “So, we've established that Life and Death feed Creation, right? Every decision or Fate or consequence opens up a new thread?”

“Yes!”

“Good, well, you can  _see_ them all, right? You can actually _control and manifest them_ ?”

“Yes!”

Lucifer smiled. “Now then, to expand on my original question; how many beings in all of Creation have the ability to do  _that_ little trick?”

Cartaphilus opened his mouth to respond, but found himself without an answer. Lucifer began to laugh.

“What....what are you saying...?” he finally found himself asking weakly, fearing the answer already that was forming in his head.

“I'm saying that only the Creator of Life, and Death have that ability, Roman. I'm saying that all of Creation was being swallowed by the Void, or was already just about gone, and God found a way to fuel up the fires of Creation once again.”

The Roman felt himself sinking to his knees as the strength drained out of him. He could hear, could  _feel_ the Old Gods screaming in fury within him.

“Me,” he whispered weakly.

“Father needs Death to fuel Life, and vice-versa. With the power of the Old Ones unleashed, he needed to re-direct it, channel it to save all of Creation. You made a  _pact_ with them, brought their power  _here_ , to Creation . He seized on that. He used that power, like He  _always does_ . He trapped you with your own ambition, Roman! Congratulations, Cartaphilus, you have  _become Death_ .”

Cartaphilus stared down at his empty hands, saw fat drops of tears splash onto them.

“How....?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Worked out a way for the old manifestation of Death to give his power to you, I guess.” He smiled. “The old bastard always did want to retire at some point.”

Cartaphilus' mind reeled as he remembered Death basically telling him that very same thing. He had been played.... _tricked_ ....

Trapped.

The Old Ones fury was bare and raw. He stared around this Paradise that he had manifested, wanting nothing more than to burn it all down.

He stood, shoulders heaving as he searched, watched every living thing for a timeline, a possibility,a thread of destiny to manifest with his newly found power, willing them to  _burn_ ....

And nothing happened.

“What... _why_ ?” he screamed in ragged desperation, his impotent rage only feeding on itself. “ _If I am Death, then why can't I kill them_ ....!?”

Lucifer remained calm, smiling. “I suspect that there are agents controlling the Power of Life as well, Roman. I would wager that they are gaining power, balancing it all out.” He spread out his arms. “This is the Wellspring. The Beginning. God's first try. This is Life beginning anew. There's balance here, your power is muted.”

_Castiel and Crowley_ , the Roman thought, a spike of red-hot anger going through him.  _They have the Souls_ ....

“Well, at least I know why I came here now,” he whispered between clenched teeth.

“Oh? What's the answer, then?”

“I have my next target. It's all about balance, correct?” Lucifer nodded, his face expressionless. “Good. Well then, instead of controlling the Souls to confront God, like I originally planned....what happens if I just destroy them?”

He smiled slowly in satisfaction as he watched Lucifer turn pale.

 


	4. The Keys

# The Keys

Crowley gazed down at the bound and unconscious form of the Old God with curiosity, puzzling over the sheer amount of power that this vessel contained. Castiel stood conservatively a few steps back, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides, pacing a small path into the concrete floor, eyeing Aleister like a bomb that could explode at any moment.

Crowley uncomfortably acknowledged to himself that this probably wasn't a bad idea, and took a step away himself.

He, Castiel, Gabriel, Cain and Jesse stood in a small, enclosed room with sigils engraved on the wall, pulsing with Angelic and Demonic power. A single large concrete slab rose from the middle of the floor, similarly inscribed. On it's surface were smooth metal bands, wrapped around the wrists and ankles of Aleister Crowley, who writhed fitfully in an unconscious-like sleep, his eyes flying back and forth wildly beneath the closed lids.

“So, what do we do with it?” Crowley asked, turning back to Castiel, an eyebrow raised. Castiel stopped his pacing and cleared his throat, eyes darting quickly at the Old God and back to Crowley.

“What do you mean? We destroy it, that's what we do with it.”

Crowley clucked his tongue impatiently. “Stop thinking like a soldier for a second, Castiel. You know good and well why that is not even theoretically possible.”

Castiel's shoulders sank. “Balance.”

Crowley nodded. “We not only need to send this thing back to the Void, we need to trap it there. So, once again, suggestions?”

Almost as if in silent response, Aleister, containing the Old God Nyarlathotep, stirred. Crowley jerked away even further, and then, reconsidering, walked a good distance away to stand near Castiel.

“Well, the Gate needs to be repaired, right?” Jesse asked. He stood in the corner, arms folded over his chest. Gabriel and Cain both nodded.

“Easier said than done, kiddo,” Gabriel sighed. “God made that. And I watched when He pulled it down, too.”

Castiel threw his hands up in the air, pacing away angrily. “Why would Father do that?! I mean, He....or  _they_ ....” he winced at the puzzled looks he got and held up a hand. “Long story....God told me that He gave us the Souls of Heaven and Hell to create a balance, to heal the wound left from the deaths of Michael and Lucifer. What He didn't tell me is what to do with it. In fact, I think He's of a split mind... _literally_ , on whether or not to go ahead with a Biblical level Armageddon.”

“Judah,” Gabriel nodded. He shrugged. “That would be Judah'S idea right? And you're not wrong. God has kind of Universal mindset, and it's strained to it's limits right now. Even in the midst of that Zombie spell, I was able to see Him on that hill having a picnic with Himself - He's split into multiple forms.”

Crowley closed his eyes tightly, waving his hand, “Wait a second here, are you suggestion that God is a schizophrenic right now?”

Gabriel shrugged again. “Yeah, kind of, in layman's terms. He's Chuck, Charlie and Judah, and they are of very different minds as to  _how_ to rescue Creation, but hey, at least they are on the same page as to whether or not it  _should_ be rescued.”

“Which is an improvement,” Cain muttered. “Judah left to his own devices would see it all burn down.”

“We're getting nowhere,” Crowley said wearily, pacing around Aleister. “We have all of this power, and no idea what to do with it.” He glanced at Gabriel. “Unless you know some way of reconstituting the Gate....”

Gabriel shook his head vigorously. “Nope. Sorry. Outside of my pay grade.”

Castiel sighed and sank to the floor, his back against a wall. “It's only a matter of time before Nyarlathotep wakes up.” He looked up at Jesse. “And I'm not sure if you'll be able to take him by surprise again.”

Jesse nodded. “I mean, I can manifest just about anything, but there are limits....and that thing...” he shuddered. “It's power is so vast. Even as I put it under, it was like it was laughing at me. It took all of my power just to put it asleep.” He looked away. “It  _knows_ it's only a temporary victory. And it's already waited so long.”

Crowley nodded. “I hate to have to admit to this, gentlemen, but we appear to be far out of our league. We need something cosmically powerful here....which leads me to my next question....where has Death gotten off to?” He looked around the room. “Anyone seen him recently?” There were several doubtful looks and the shaking of heads. “Because if anyone can tell us why God is being so damned indecisive and mercurial, it's....”

“Me,” said a quiet voice from the corner of the room. They all startled and turned towards the tall, gaunt and pale figure in a trim black suit that seemed to appear out of nowhere. “I was wondering at what point that you all would finally ask for me. And to answer your question, God is being indecisive because He  _has_ to be right now.”

“What....why?” Crowley sputtered, regaining his composure.”

“Because He is going to die,” Death answered plainly, his features still. “He wants to, actually. And His will be done, after all.”

“He's....He's dying...?” Gabriel asked meekly.

Death looked towards him. “No, He is _going_ to die, at His own request, I might add.” he looked around the room and sighed softly, his chin lowering into his chest, eyes closing gently. “His two eldest sons, who have been feuding with each other since the dawn of time, through no small fault of His own, just tried to wrest all of His power and depose Him. As a result of their actions, not only did He have to watch them both die, but His Creation began to be devoured by the powers they unleashed.” He let that sink in, a heavy silence filling the small room. “Now, believe me when I tell you this, He could have set things to rights with a flick of His fingers. This circle of Life and Death has played out a nearly countless number of times. But this time....” he hesitated, his eyes looking very tired and sad for a moment before continuing. “This time, it was His closest family. This time, He decided that it was time to move on.”

The heavy silence returned, and they all seemed to be studying the floor, searching for answers, a way out.

“So....so that's it,” Jesse finally croaked. “I mean...we're all going to die, right? God has given up?”

Death smiled humorously and shook his head slightly. “No necessarily boy. As I've stated, He _is_ going to die. But He loves His Creation, it is good. He has deemed it necessary to allow let _something_ to continue in His absence, but the shape of it cannot be determined by Him and Him alone. So you see....”

“...He  _has_ to be indecisive right now...because we are the ones that have to determine where Creation will end up....” Castiel finished, his eyes watering and face solemn. He looked at Death silently for confirmation, and the Reaper inclined his head slightly.

“For the cycle to be ever  _truly_ broken, it not only has to be passed on to new hands, it must be constructed in their image, with their own free will,” Death said. He sighed and smiled wanly. “I have already passed my duties along, just as God is doing. I will be allowed out of this pattern as well.” His smile grew and he squared his shoulders happily. “I am quite looking forward to it, actually. We discussed this, Him and I. It is time for the next generation, the fruits of our endeavors, to continue on in our stead.” His gaze turned serious as he scanned their faces, his eyes finally coming to a rest over Aleister. “Let us hope that their first steps are not catastrophic ones.”

“But....we still don't know how to do that....” Castiel said quietly. “Isn't there.... _anything_ that you can tell us?”

Death looked up at him. “Neither did your Father, Castiel. He fought, went to war with the Void, trapped it, and struggled to hold it back for eons. His Creation was  _His_ Creation. Whether you decide to follow in his footsteps, or create something of yourselves entirely new is up to you.” He frowned and held up a finger. “But, as I've explained, the consequences of taking a misstep are dire. And while you are powerful, you are  _not_ God, nor shall you ever become God. You are merely inheriting the raw materials that He created and are using their legacy to carry on. Therefore, I will offer you this help....” He looked slowly around the room. “Find a balance. A constant war will wear down even the most patient and loving of beings. Find a way to let your enemy get what they want as well. Strike a balance, as I have done with Cartaphilus, granting him the power to carry out his wishes, but at the same time, serving in my stead to the benefit of Creation.” There were a few gasps at this, and Death smiled. “He has been granted the power of Death, and has been using it, albeit unknowingly at first, to create new dimensions, new multiverses. You have been given that same power, potentially, with the Souls that you possess, they must only find a true home, one that allows them to create as they were intended to. Somewhere sustainable. A new Heaven and Hell?” He shrugged. “That is up to you. The Old Gods want something that is sustainable to their existence as well. Find out what that is....” he frowned, looking once more pointedly at Aleister Crowley. “...preferably one that does  _not_ involve consuming everything living, if you please.” He looked back up at them again. “It can be done. It  _must_ be done. Trust me....and trust in each other.”

Death turned towards the wall, his form fading as he walked slowly towards it. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a promise to keep with a very old friend.” With that, he disappeared, leaving them alone in silence, one filled somehow with an electric level of possibility and thought.

Crowley finally broke that buzzing silence with a small cough into a closed fist. He smiled and strode forward into the center of the room, his hands shoved deep into his suit's pockets.

“So, we've apparently been handed the keys to Dad's Ferrari, boys. What comes next?”

He question was, admittedly to his mutual expectation and satisfaction, met only with wide, staring, stunned expressions.

 


	5. And The Walls Come Tumbling Down

#  **And The Walls Come Tumbling Down**

 

Cartaphilus eyed the doors of the Resistance warehouse, his mind racing through the scenarios, the possibilities, the Old Gods residing inside of him screaming and howling their approval.

_Destroy_. _Consume_. _Kill_!

He was Death. He was the Scythe. The power of the Void resided within him, no longer waiting out the eons. They were free to wage the War they had promised the Lightbringer back when the Universe was new. The one that had made that promise, their head, the Sleepless One, the Dreamer, Nyarlathotep, lay within, captive, screaming to be freed....the _last_ to be freed.

Cartaphilus bowed his head as the ground beneath his feet and the air around him began to tremble.

And he smiled.

 

***

 

"Did you feel that?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow and looking around at the still stunned faces of Gabriel, Cain, Jesse and Castiel.

"Actually….." Gabriel answered, squinting in confusion and looking around.

The walls began to shake.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, his Angel Blade dropping into his fist. "We’re under attack…."

Gabriel grabbed his own Blade, backing up to Castiel’s shoulder andlooking around warily.

Cain strode over to the center of the room, where Aleister Crowley lay bound, circling him carefully. "They’re trying to rescue him…."

" _Who_?! Who’s trying to rescue him? We chased Cartaphilus off!" Jesse yelled, placing a hand on the shaking walls. The shaking subsided to a degree, but the deep rumbling in the earth kept ramping up in intensity. He closed his eyes and let out a small gasp. "Powerful….so….." His eyes snapped open, staring intently forward. "They’re here," he whispered.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Who? Who’s here?"

A tear streaked down the side of Jesse’s face. He shook, his fists clenched, his chest heaving with deep, long breaths.

"I….can’t hold them….back…."

Crowley look a step towards him. "Who, Jesse? Who’s here?!"

The air went cold, the light flickered, but it wasn’t the electricity failing, it was more that the _light itself_ was failing….they all felt pinpricks of dread run up their back and arms.

"All of them…."Jesse whispered, his face appearing and disappearing in the light and darkness. "The Old Ones. Death. They’ve come for us."

 

***

 

Cartaphilus stood before a Door. Inside was the Sleeping One, Nyarlathotep. If he could reach him and awake him, it would all be over.

He felt…. _shame_.

He had run from this. They had captured the Old God, and he had run.

Death too had come for him before, in this very warehouse, and instead of accepting his long sought release, he had run away then as well.

_Shame_.

Only when he had manifested Eden and had spoken with Lucifer had everything become clear.

He had _become_ Death. He would _never die_.

His shame came from the fact that he thought he could change God’s verdict, and might be able to exact a measure of revenge on Him for Cartaphilus' horrible punishment - he should have realized, God would _never_ have let him loose. Cartaphilus had murdered His Son with his own hand. He wanted to see Cartaphilus live _forever_ , serving Creation as the new incarnation of Death, never ending - God still punishing him, making him suffer for his crime.

He would not see God suffer, as he had wished. It was this hubris that caused his shame.

God would simply be destroyed, just like Creation itself.

The destruction of everything else was so much _easier_. He should have realized this. Not allow himself to be fooled. Not allow God the power to keep punishing him.

_Destroy it all_ ….

He cocked his head to the side. Beyond that door and it’s myriad protections were guardians, guardians of Creation itself. He could feel their power. Nyarlathotep was the final piece to balance it out. Their power would then mirror and match the power that these guardians wielded.

He had no illusions that he would win when he fought them. They would meet, these powers of the Void and powers of Creation, these powers of Life and powers of Death . And then they would annihilate each other.

There would be _nothing_ any more.

He breathed out slowly, a habit of his mortal form that he really no longer needed to do, and wondered idly if it was the last breath _anything_ would ever take.

Then he let Them loose.

It started as a low vibration in the air, as if from a very, very far away place, and then built in intensity like a stampede, the howls of Chaos growing in volume as they encountered this Creation, this Reality, and became manifest. They surged forward, an impossible wall of Chaos and anti-life, ripping and tearing at the very fabric of reality as they came, and the world around him shuddered at the assault.

The Door, and it’s protections, disintegrated before it. The guardians stood there in front of him, standing to fight.

Cartaphilus felt a wave of sadness as the last of the fire fueling his thirst for revenge against God flickered and sputtered out.

There would _be_ no fight.

This was the End.

 

***

 

Castiel and Crowley turned towards the door into the holding cell. It had begun to _breathe_ ….pulsing slowly in and out.

Alarmed, Gabriel turned to Jesse, who was bent over in seeming pain, his brow streaming rivers of sweat.

"Jesse…? Can you….?"

"I’m _trying_ …." he gasped. "It’s too much….I’m trying to manifest and create, use my will, but the Void….," he grimaced. "It doesn’t _end_ …."

The door collapsed and folded in on itself like a wadded piece of paper. The walls all around them followed, rapidly turning to dust….streaming away in quick-flowing rivers….into a Darkness….an endless Void….until they were all standing without a visible ground beneath them, or a sky above them, only _Darkness_ , stretching out in every direction, the small group a tiny point of light within it, surrounding the struggling form of Nyarlathotep, still bound and held to the stone table.

Directly in front of them stood a human figure with his arms out to his sides. He slowly raised his face to them.

"Actually," Cartaphilus said, "you had asked me if I was….how did you put it? ….oh yes….'ready for Round Two’…."

The Void and Darkness behind him began to _move_ , great shapes squirming and resolving themselves into horrific, vast forms. Teeth and maws and limbs writhed in the endless vista behind the Roman, dwarfing them all as their numbers stretched out into an unseen infinity, the Old Ones made manifest. They screamed and howled in unison, the sound shaking their very bones.

Cartaphilus smiled at them, a soulless, dead thing.

"….there was never a Round One," he finished, the smile disappearing.

The Old Ones surged forward, reaching their misshapen arms towards their Master Nyarlathotep on the table, swinging and tearing wildly at his guards. Jesse gasped and screamed hoarsely, his hand outstretched, flashes of red Light appearing to burn the Darkness away before him, but it was like a small campfire on a rocky beach trying to hold on against the tide coming in. It surged and surged, and the Light became less and less, and everywhere they met, there was a burst of energy, and a _hole_ was left behind….one completely and horribly empty of either Light or Void, an unreal _Nothingness_ that the warriors from both sides turned away from, unable to comprehend it.

"Crowley!" Castiel screamed. The demon turned towards him, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. "The Souls!" Castiel yelled. "It’s our only chance!

Castiel scrunched up his face in confusion when he saw Crowley's face. He had begun to laugh.

“What....what is it....?”

Crowley shook his head and held up a palm, regaining his composure. “Oh, nothing really, Castiel....I....I was just thinking...” he said, swallowing hard against a dying chuckle, “.... I was just thinking how merely only a few years back, I was getting by making humans sell their souls for recording contracts and stock options....and _now_....” he swept his arm out lazily, “....just look at me now, right?”

Castiel grimaced, squeezed his eyes shut, nodded and smiled tightly. He stepped towards him and placed a hand on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley looked up and nodded back to him.

A glowing blue-white Light appeared within his skin, gaining intensity until it burst out in a vast cloud, pushing the Old Ones back, screaming in fury. Next to him, Castiel was doing the same - the Souls of Hell streamed forth in a blinding reddish Light. As soon as this happened, Cartaphilus let out a burst of triumphant laughter and surged forward into the Light, and everywhere he touched it caused more Nothingness.

Light continued to stream from the Souls of Heaven and Hell, until the vast area around them was filled with the Old Ones and the power of Creation, a perfect balance of energy….

"NO!!" Cain screamed, grabbing their arms. "This is exactly what he wants!!"

Castiel and Crowley considered him, their eyes glowing, their attention wavering.

The Old Ones broke through, their arms tearing and ripping at the bonds that held Nyarlathotep, then sank deeper, into the very flesh of Aleister Crowley, his vessel, flinging his skin and blood aside like tissue paper with a sickening rending sound.

There was another, vastly louder ripping sound as something incomprehensibly enormous broke free in a stream, filling the sky all around them.

Cartaphilus began to laugh hysterically as more destruction and Nothingness appeared all around them.

Creation, as well as the Void, was being ripped apart.

Cain struggled forward, talons grasping at him all around him, tearing into his shoulder and torso. He ignored them and ripped them away, grimacing in pain. He grabbed Castiel and Crowley, his eyes wild.

“Remember what Death told us! We have to find out what they want! We can't just fight them blindly! It will destroy us all!”

Castiel blinked slowly and closed his eyes, looking around. Crowley did the same. He gasped as he walked a small circle, gazing up at the form that Nyarlathotep, the Old God, had manifested into all around them.

Millions of hatred-filled eyes in the sky stared back at them from every direction at once, swirling and angry mists of pure chaos suspending them in an endless curtain. Forms moved within those mists, spiked and sharp, wet and dank, putrid and rotten.

Pure madness manifested and made whole.

“ _THIS CREATION IS AT IT'S END_ ,” a deep voice bellowed in the sky, sounding like metal tearing itself apart. It was all Castiel and Crowley could do not to throw their hands over their ears. Their legs shook and Castiel fell to his knees. “WE SHALL ALL RETURN TO THE VOID.”

Crowley looked down at Castiel, a helpless look on his face.

“So, any ideas how we're going to make a bargain with  _that_ ?” he whispered before sinking down onto the empty ground next to him.

 


	6. Contracts

# Contracts

 

Chuck, Charlie and Judah looked out in dismay at the unfathomable, endless form of the Old God Nyarlathotep, and simultaneously shook their head slowly.

 

"Well, it’s up to them now," Charlie whispered, her voice catching.

 

"This is a mistake....we should end it now. Trap the Old God back in his Void, reset the balance," Judah answered with a snarl.

 

Chuck sighed and shook his head. "That's not the answer, son, and you damned well know it. The cycle has to stop." He smiled bitterly and looked over at Judah, tearing his eyes away from the writhing mass of Nyarlathotep. "We’re writing the same story over and over again."

 

Judah rolled his eyes. "You still think of yourself an author, Father?"

 

"It’s the only way something new can be found," Chuck whispered back.

 

"That and Free Will," Charlie added, her voice scratchy and tired. "That’s why we need to leave it up to them for a change."

 

Judah frowned. "And if they fail, we all return to the Void, and all that we’ve ever done is lost." He closed his eyes, then levelled a steady gaze at them both. "Is the risk truly worth it?" He looked around at the empty hilltop where the three stood and waved his arm into the air. The image of Nyarlathotep faded, and was replaced by a wide vista of shining jewel-like lights, each one brilliant and fluctuating like a sun.

 

"It is all so weak, still," he said, considering the lights. "So young and fragile. Where once there were an uncountable number of realities, they are all now poised at the brink, ready to be consumed by the Void as their predecessors were."

 

"There were none of these realities a month or so ago," Chuck answered, smiling. "Well…there was one, anyway. This is _better_ than just one. Even you have to admit that, Judah. This is proof that this will work."

 

"It’s not _enough_ ," Judah shot back, grimacing. "We are not ready, Father. I beg you, please. We must reconsider this….and quickly."

 

"Everything must die, young one," a silky smooth voice said from behind them. "This day was always on the horizon."

 

They all turned as one, considering the tall, thin man in the black suit cresting the hill. He smiled wanly at them.

 

"For such is the price of Creation and Life."

 

Chuck smiled back. ”Them’s the rules."

 

"Don’t _we_ write the rules?" Judah spat back, his voice full of venom. "This is madness."

 

Death smiled at Judah. "I understand. You are young yet, in this manifestation. You represent the Lion, the fight. This seems like surrender to you."

 

Judah snarled. "It _is_ the coward’s way out. This is tantamount to suicide for a being that cannot die, that by definition is eternal. Do you deny this?"

 

"Patently," Death replied calmly, clasping his hands together in front of him and tilting his head slightly at Judah.

 

"Oh, do try to convince me otherwise, then," Judah replied.

 

"Gladly," Death answered, looking around at the flickering lights all around them. "This," he said, his arm indicating the firmament in a wide, slow sweep, "…this is why this isn’t suicide. None of this would exist without God and his children, His trillions of Souls. Nothing would exist without God. The Void would have all."

 

"That’s exactly my point!" Judah shouted. "If we die, then the Void will claim everything!"

 

"Oh, I think not. I think this Creation will continue, and through this new existence, these new realities, that expand exponentially until they reach a true infinity, God is truly eternal:"

 

"You can’t be sure of that!"

 

"Oh yes I can."

 

"How?!" Judah sputtered, holding his arms into the air.

 

"Because I am Death, and you created me to Reap even you, when it is time. But," he added, raising a finger, "Reaping is not a final end. Reaping sows the ground for the next life. What you have done as God is beyond remarkable, beyond fathomable, and now, it must be allowed to live….to _actually_ live…."

 

Judah considered this, watching Death like he was a poisonous animal waiting to strike. "That explains nothing of how you _know_ that's what will happen," Judah answered, his eyes narrowing. "This could all still fail, and then there would be no life at all."

 

Death smiled. "As I said, I think not. I think it is time for this new Creation to truly live. And this apart and separate from it's parents....the next generation, you could say, finally ready to take over everything."

 

"And as I asked, how can you be so _sure_?" Judah asked defiantly, crossing his arms.

 

Death smiled and looked into the Heavens, the lights reflecting and twinkling in his dark eyes.

 

"Because, my Lord, I am Death. And there are certain things that are for me to know. And I tell you that it _not_ time for them to die. Not yet." He lowered his gaze to them.

 

"But it is time for you." With that, Death slowly raised his arm and held out his hand.

 

Chuck and Charlie stared at the outstretched and seemingly welcome Hand of Death, then smiled and walked towards him, taking his hand into their own. Judah stood, mouth slightly open, then shook his head and uncrossed his arms.

 

He stepped towards him with them.

 

"I still think is a _terrible_ mistake," he grumbled petulantly as he took their joined hands. "I mean, Castiel and Crowley? We’re truly entrusting the entire Universe to those two?"

 

Death smiled at him. "I’m actually encouraged," he said. "There are far worse options."

 

Judah closed his eyes and forced a smile in return. "I’m going to ignore that jab."

 

"See?" Death replied as they began to fade away. "Even a Lion can be wise."

 

***

 

Cartaphilus laughed maniacally as the Universe around him began to unravel.

 

The Souls of Heaven and Hell that Castiel and Crowley had turned against the Old Ones were being consumed, along with the aforementioned Old Ones, but the Roman’s smile only widened.

 

They were _never_ meant to survive. There could be no more Creation, no more accident of God. Without the Old Ones, without the denizens of that Darkness, there would only be the Void, and God would truly be defeated.

 

Cartaphilus got the impression that the Old God Nyarlathotep was beginning to grasp that concept as well. The unending form writhed in anger and retreated back from the places where pure Nothingness appeared, shrieking in fury. Several thousand of the creature’s eyes, that had been focused on Castiel and Crowley before, had swivelled towards the Roman accusingly.

 

Cartaphilus shrugged guiltily, his smile lopsided. Nyarlathotep roared in fury, the air around them shaking violently with his indignant fury.

 

***

 

Crowley opened an eye as the roaring gained in volume, glancing around him.

 

"That sounds….not so good….," he said, standing up slowly. He looked over at Castiel, who was also looking around curiously.

 

"It sounds....angry," Castiel said slowly, turning in a small circle, shivering involuntarily at the utter destruction surrounding them.

 

"At what, I wonder…?" Crowley answered. "It’s _winning_ , isn’t it?"

 

Castiel squinted as more pockets of Nothingness appeared where Creation met the Void, and looked swiftly away again, the sight of pure Nothingness hurting every sense that he had.

 

"Maybe…" he gasped, "…maybe it wanted to destroy Creation and return to the Void, not have everything literally annihilate itself…." His eyes widened. “Itself included.”

 

Crowley held up his hands to shield his eyes, scanning the landscape until he spotted Cartaphilus. A small, crooked smile appeared on his face.

 

"I think I might have an idea here…."

 

Castiel frowned. "An idea for what?"

 

Crowley began to beam.

 

"A sales pitch."

 


	7. The Final Line

# The Final Line

_"Castiel"?_

_"Michael? What are you doing here?"_

_"I will admit....I do not get to Heaven's Gardens often enough, Brother.....Castiel….I need you to do something for me….for Heaven….for us all."_

_"I…what do you mean?"_

_"Castiel….the time has come, the righteous man has spilled blood in Hell."_

_"Brother…."_

_"I know, Castiel….it is the first Seal. Our plan is in motion. It has happened."_

_"I never….Father would never have….I never thought that…."_

_"Castiel….Father is gone. For all we know, He is dead…."_

_"Don’t say that, Michael! You can’t know that!"_

_"Castiel, I will indulge your anger and insubordination, because I need you….Heaven needs loyal Angels such as you on our side, but make no mistake, you are either a loyal Angel of Heaven, or you are with them….a war is about to come, Castiel. Who are you going to trust? Where do your loyalties truly lie?"_

_"I….of course….forgive me, Brother…my loyalties lie with Heaven."_

_"And with me, I might remind you....please do not forget that. So when I say that Father will not be returning, Castiel, you have to trust me. I would never lead you nor Heaven astray Castiel. I am it’s greatest guardian, you know that, do you not?"_

_"I…know. I apologize, Michael."_

_"Just so. Good. I need you to go to Hell and raise Dean Winchester from Perdition. He will be my vessel in the war to come."_

_"I…Lucifer will be released….we are really doing this…."_

_"It will be done."_

_"And….you are absolutely sure….?"_

_"About?"_

_"Forgive me, Michael, but….Father….are you sure about Father?"_

_"Why are you having such a hard time with this Castiel? Has anyone seen or heard from Father in the past two-thousand years?"_

_"Yes…but…time is such a…"_

_"Time is such a mortal thing, Castiel. I agree with you. I do. But this is exactly what we’re talking about – the_ mortal _coil. Mankind has festered and grown rotten outside of His vision. He created them, they slaughtered His son on the cross, and He left them to their ways. It is more than past time to cull the herd. The fact that Father has not judged them is evidence alone that He is no longer here."_

_"Or….it’s a test…."_

_"A test, Castiel? What do you mean by that?"_

_"Did you ever consider, Michael…that perhaps Father is observing us, watching us?"_

_"To what end?"_

_"To see what we would do in His absence."_

_"Castiel. I have considered ALL of the possibilities."_

_"But did you? Did you consider that this was a test?"_

_"Of course, Castiel. And along with my decision, the Council of Heaven itself has also decided and ruled on this being the correct course of action."_

_"I see….in that case, yes, I will retrieve the Winchester boy from Hell and prepare him to be your vessel. But…."_

_"But what, Castiel?"_

_"I…although it hurts me to say this….I hope that you are correct about Father being dead, Michael."_

_"Castiel…why would you say that? This is a terrible loss for us all….the burden that this has placed on Creation and Heaven is unbearable…."_

_"I say that because if you are indeed mistaken, Michael, and Father is alive and testing us, this thing that we’re about to do would truly kill Him."_

 

***

 

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Castiel?"

"I hate this plan."

Crowley’s shoulders dropped slightly, but he still managed to smile and clap Castiel on the shoulder.

"I’m afraid that you have no choice."

"What….? Why?"

"Because Choir-Boy, it’s the only plan that we’ve got left."

Above and all around them, the Old God  Nyarlathotep screamed in defiance, as the Roman Cartaphilus practically danced in triumph, as more and more of Creation and the Darkness met in a flash of annihilating energy and became pure Nothingness. Gabriel, Cain and Jesse Turner fought with rapidly dwindling energy, the swarms of Old Ones falling before them, but still their endless number drove forward at them, this last bastion of light and life. The Souls of Heaven and Hell flew in vast, wide ribbons of brilliant light, red and blue, piercing thousands of the creatures in a single pas, but still they came, the Darkness pushing in on all sides.

"Just….just think about it Castiel…."

Castiel frowned and turned away from Crowley, his hand pressing against his eyes and forehead.

"Don’t take too  _long_ thinking about it, mind you…."

Castiel spun on Crowley, his eyes red, face twisted in anger. "Do you have any  _idea_ of what you’re asking me to do?!"

Crowley remained calm. "Yes Castiel, I’m asking you to save the entire Universe. You’re the only one that can do it."

Castiel took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, but his shoulders still trembled, whether in fear or rage, or a combination of both, he couldn’t say. "But at what price, Crowley? What will come after….after…. _if_ I do this....?"

Crowley nodded in genuine sympathy. "I know Castiel. I know what I’m asking you to do…."

"Do you Crowley? Do you  _really_ understand?!"

Crowley took a small step back, looked down at his feet and sighed. He then nodded sadly, looking up at Castiel, meeting his eyes and setting his jaw.

"He’ll…He’ll do it, you know….” Castiel mumbled.

Crowley nodded again. “I know, Castiel. I think that's what we're all counting on.”

Castiel looked away into the sky. "Just to save us all…He’ll actually do it…"

"If you ask Him to, Castiel, yes," Crowley answered softly. “But not to save us.”

Castiel's forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, His motivation. It won't be to rescue us, or come riding in on a white horse. That's all been done before. His motivation is to break the cycle...to pass on everything He's created to the next generation. To let Life truly move along....” He frowned and shook his head. “Castiel, if there's a better example of what Life is really all about, I don't know what that is.”

Tears began to slowly trickle down Castiel’s face. “I can't....I don't even know if I can do this....”

"Castiel, there  _is_ no other…."

"I know…"Castiel whispered hoarsely, then smiled at Crowley, his lips a thin, painful line. "You know? It was probably His damned idea the whole time….?" He glanced over in the direction of Cartaphilus and nodded at him to Crowley. "So, what are we doing about him?"

Crowley grunted. "I believe he’s about to get an offer that he won’t be able to refuse….more than he deserves, actually, considering the grave he’s dug for himself…."

 

***

 

"NYARLATHOTEP!!" Crowley shouted into the swirling mass, his arms out to his sides. "Nyarlathotep!! We have an offer for you! A way for you to win!"

There was a barely perceptible waver in the massive form surrounding them, a slight slowing of the on-rush of Old Ones at the defenders. Crowley noted it and held his hands out wider.

"Hear us out! I know that the Roman double-crossed you! We know a way out of this! One that will benefit us all!"

There was a deep rumbling thunder before a voice of the Old One manifested.

"WHY WOULD WE WANT  _YOU_ TO BENEFIT AT ALL?"

Crowley frowned and shook his head, casting a quick glance over at Castiel who stood next to him.

"Would it help if I said that you’d never have to deal with us at all afterwards?"

There was a pause as the Old God seemed to consider this.

"BECAUSE YOU WOULD BE DEAD."

Crowley nodded enthusiastically. "Well, eventually, sure. But mainly, you wouldn’t have to deal with Creation anymore."

"CREATION IS PAIN."

Crowley licked his lips. "That will be gone! That’s what we’re offering!"

"THE ONLY WAY TO DO THIS IS TO CONSUME YOU. YOU OFFER US NOTHING."

There was a scream of pain from around them as more Old Ones fell into patches of Nothingness.

"No! Look around you! How can you not bloody  _see_ anything with so many damned eyes everywhere!?" Crowley shouted, waving his arm around. " _Nothing_ is exactly what you'll get if you don’t hear us out! No Void, no Old Ones, just  _Nothing_ ! "

“I AM NOT BLIND, DEMON! I KNOW THAT THE ROMAN BETRAYED US ALL. AND WE WILL MAKE HIM SUFFER FOR IT! COME WHAT MAY!"

“This isn’t working…" Castiel whispered.

"Wait….just  _wait_ …." Crowley answered nervously. He looked around. "The pain...you said you wanted the pain to stop...this pain that you’re feeling is…."

There was a deep growling sound.

"I KNOW WHAT IS CAUSING THIS PAIN…. _BETRAYAL_ ....JUST AS THE LIGHTBRIGNER BETRAYED US."

“And isn't  _that_ what you would most want to rectify? Restore the balance? Put things back the way they were? Return to your Void, the touch of Creation and God never upon you again? This is  _exactly_ what we're offering you!!”

The world hung in silence, the sounds of battle fading to a background hum; muted as they waited, the air trembling in anticipation.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROPOSAL?"

Crowley closed his eyes slowly, his entire body relaxing in relief.

"We can bring God to you, we can bring the Lightbringer here, and have Him put things back the way they were before Creation even began. That's our offer." he said quitely, his voice carrying in the air nonetheless.

The Old Ones completely stopped their attack. Crowley looked around them, saw Gabriel, Cain and Jesse looking warily around them, breathing heavily in the respite.

"THE LIGHTBRINGER….YOU WOULD BRING HIM TO US?"

"Yes."

"THIS IS A TRICK. HE WOULD TRY TO IMPRISON US ONCE AGAIN."

Crowley shook his head. "No. You know this. He’s the one that defined you, yes, but…."

"HURT US!"

"Yes. Hurt you. Imprisoned you. To fuel Creation. He can  _undo_ that."

"HE WOULD DESTROY HIMSELF AS WELL."

"I think that’s what He wants. He goes, and the method by which you are imprisoned dies with Him. You return to the Void, never to be disturbed again."

"AND WHAT OF CREATION?"

Crowley looked around. "I think that you know as well as I do that it will now remain, but not drawing on your power any longer. Because God also created Souls. These have fueled the birth of countless new dimensions, each new thought spawning countless more."

"WILL THEY NOT ALSO BE DESTROYED AS WELL, WITHOUT US TO FUEL IT?"

"Also, no."

"THIS DOES NOT SEEM POSSIBLE. HOW WILL LIFE SUSTAIN ITSELF WITHOUT US TO BALANCE IT?"

"Because of Death. Look, these things – Souls and Death, they weren’t even  _there_ when he battled you the first time. It was just God and his Angels. Life and Death came later. Fate came later. I think….I think He’s figured out that they are self-sustaining. I think He’s realized that…." He glanced over at Castiel and frowned. Castiel looked pained. "No. I  _know_ that He’s realized that we don’t need Him to run things anymore. That what He’s created….His  _children_ …they're ready to inherit the Earth."

"YOU ARE SAYING THAT HE WANTS TO DIE?"

"Yes. And in doing so, righting a wrong."

"WHAT WRONG?"

"What He did to you."

“AND HOW CAN YOU KNOW THIS FOR CERTAIN? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT HE WILL ACTUALLY GO THROUGH WITH THIS? DESTROY HIMSELF?”

Crowley took a deep breath and looked at Castiel. “Here's where the contract gets signed, or we lose it all....literally,” he said quietly, before turning his head back to the sky.

“I know for certain because one of his own children is going to ask him to do it.” He heard Castiel move up beside him. “This Angel, Castiel.”

“YOU WOULD ASK THIS OF HIM?”

Castiel swallowed hard, and his voice came out a broken, hoarse, thing, but the determination that was in his answer was apparent to everyone there.

“Yes.”

The silence all around them deepened. It was only then that Crowley glanced over at Cartaphilus, who was standing aghast, staring all around him, uncomprehending, his destruction stopped.

"YOUR TERMS….ARE ACCEPTABLE."

Cartaphilus screamed in unfocused rage. Castiel looked down at his hands, where he had a white-knuckled grip on the God Tablet.

"It’s up to you, Castiel…."Crowley said. "Only one of His children can ask Him to do what we need Him to do."

Castiel swallowed hard, nodding. He took a deep breath, looking around. " _Father_ ….," he said into the air in Enochian, his voice barely a whisper. His tears started up anew. The Tablet began to glow. "Father….I call you to me."

Almost immediately, a gentle hand rested on Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel turned his head, frowning, and met the eyes of an old, wrinkled man, with the dark, smooth skin of Judah, Chuck Shurley's twinkling eyes, and Charlie Bradbury's gentle smile, and knew it immediately to be his Father.

“Lord....I....” Castiel choked.

God beamed at him. “It's OK, son, I know.” His eyes turned up at the Old God and he nodded sagely. There was a roar from Cartaphilus as he stormed towards them, Gladius white-knuckled in his grip, his face red with fury.

“ _This will not stand_!!” he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. “I will have my revenge on you, or you will watch me slaughter your children right before your very eyes!!”

He stopped, chest heaving, eyes red as he looked hungrily at Castiel and Crowley, Gabriel, Jesse and Cain, and smiled evilly, giving God a knowing glare.

“It wouldn't be the first time that I've done it, either.”

Castiel frowned and looked back at God, whose smile had faded. He looked weary and sad. He shook his head slightly. “Such a waste. I seems that I shall have to give him exactly what he 's asking for.”

Without looking back at Castiel, God strode forward towards the Roman, his arms moving out slowly to his sides.

“I've got this.”

 


	8. Choices

# Choices

_Cartaphilus_ _shouldered his way through the wailing, sparse group of onlookers, frowning at them and watching them shuffle back, his well-kept centurions uniform a symbol of authority that they dared not defy. The five-foot short spear in his left hand that was covered in the blood of the condemned man crucified above him did nothing to encourage them either._

_He came to the base of the cross, looking up at the man that Equs Pilate had decided was innocent of conspiracy against Rome, but his contemporary followers had condemned to torture and death regardless. Whether it was in defiance to Rome, or because they truly hated this man who claimed to be the Messiah, it wasn't clear, and Cartaphilus didn't care. He was merely curious._

_There were so many stories and accounts swirling around this man. Talk of miracles. Of healing the sick....no...more than sick....dying._

_Cartaphilus looked into the man named Jesus' eyes, then frowned and looked away. He would die soon, whether by the wounds inflicted by his spear, or by the crucifixion itself, it was hard to tell. It didn't matter. The Roman had to know. He looked back up at Jesus, who was looking calmly down at Cartaphilus, as if he were waiting._

_“What did you mean by that?” the Roman asked._

_“What do you think it meant?” Jesus whispered, his voice dry and cracked, a rasping whisper in the dry wind._

_“'I go, and you will wait until I return'....,” Cartaphilus repeated what the Galilean had said to him after he had struck him with his spear. “Was that a warning? A curse?” he asked, growing angry. The words that Jesus had spoke to him on the road to Calvary had been playing over and over in the Roman's mind, growing in weight, until he felt that he would grow mad from them. He needed to know...._

_“It was no warning,” Jesus said, shaking his head slightly, the small movement causing his eyes to glaze and close, pressed tightly together against pain and weakness before opening again, redder and duller than before. “It is as it will be. I am sorry, but you chose this.”_

_“For hurrying you along? What do you think I chose, Galilean? What curse did you impose upon me?”_

_“As I spoke, it was only the truth. You did not strike me just to move me along faster. You chose to impose yourself in my death freely. What I said in response. was no warning. It was no curse. It was only what will come to pass.”_

_“Damn your vagueness!” Cartaphilus roared, causing some in the crowd behind him to gasp. He ignored them. “Tell me! What did that mean? Tell me or I will strike you again!” he said, waving his spear threateningly. Blood splattered from it onto the sand. The Roman was so focused on Jesus, that he didn't notice that it smoked and burned where the blood struck the ground, leaving black spots in the ground. The crowd moved back even further._

_Jesus flicked his eyes to the spear and smiled. “That weapon can do me no more harm, Roman, but it shall cause more harm in the centuries to come, that much I can tell you.”_

_“Do you doubt me?”, Cartaphilus hissed, grasping the heft in both hands, and moving into a striking position._

_Jesus shook his head. “No, because I shall tell you what my words will mean to you.”_

_“Then say it!”_

_Jesus fixed his eyes on him. “You will go from this place, after I am called home. You will not be called to your home, however but rather to the Church that my body has created. You shall be reborn and name thyself Joseph. You will go on. You will return to Rome, after discovering that your greatest wish and greatest fear has become manifest, seeking salvation. The Romans will name you Giovanni Buttadeo - the God Striker - and cast you out, and you shall go on until I return. That is the meaning of my words. I have granted you your greatest wish, Cartaphilus, centurion of Pilate, I have kept you from death, until I return.”_

_Cartaphilus took a step back, puzzled, the meaning dawning on him. Then he began to smile, then sneer up at the man on the cross._

_“Immortality? That's the best that you can offer? Even if I were to believe this nonsense, what kind of a punishment is that?”_

_“I never said it was a punishment. I said it was the removal of your greatest fear. As you took my life, I sensed that this is what you truly wanted, and so it is that I granted this to you, my murderer. And, I never said that it was immortality, Roman. I said that you shall remain until I return.”_

_Cartaphilus laughed at this, throwing his head back and turning away, the crowd parting like a wave in front of him as he strode down the small hill, away from the stench of death._

_“It will be immortality, then, Jesus of Nazareth, because you will never be coming back,” he snorted to himself as he turned down the road back to his master's house. “And as I lay old and dying in my bed, there shall be my proof that you were nothing but another fraud with delusions of being a god.”_

_He stopped as he heard a cry from the top of the hill._

_“Father! Into your hands I commend my Spirit!_

_Cartaphilus slowly turned his head to look back._

_The Roman watched as the figure slumped, the life gone from him._

_Then he felt a shiver of cold fear go through him as he saw the gray, overcast and featureless sky open up over the dead man's head, and a single, brilliant ray of sunlight fall upon him....or it seemed this way....the Roman was not sure, but a trick of the light seemed as if the light went upwards....from the ground....lWhat followed were wails equal parts grief and wonder from the gathered crowd._

_He frowned, turned away, and continued on his way._

 

***  
  


“I have returned, Cartaphilus.”

“I am more than aware of that,” the Roman spat to the side, moving closer.

“So, I have a question for you, as you once had a question for me, while I was dying on the cross.”

Cartaphilus stopped and tilted his head. “What question?”

“A simple one. As I have returned, Cartaphilus, then why aren't you dead?”

Cartaphilus' eyes narrowed to slits as the anger boiled off of him. The Old Ones bound to him churned all around in seeming rhythm to the fury, waiting to spring, growling and clawing in the seemingly endless Darkness swirling around them all.

“I will make you suffer first, as you have made me suffer.”

God smiled. “I am not the cause of your suffering, Cartaphilus.”

“LIAR!!!” the Roman screamed, rushing forward, his Gladius coming to a rest with it's point in the nape of God's neck. “That was  _Your_ curse that left me to suffer, undying over all of these years! That was Your doing!”

God spread his hands to the side. “You murdered me. Did you wish me to murder you in return? An act of revenge as you seek now?” He shook his head. “No. That isn't what you wished for, Cartaphilus.”

“Don't try to tell me this is what I wished for!” Cartaphilus hissed, the Gladius pressing into the flesh of God's neck. A small trickle of blood welled out, and from behind them, Castiel gasped and tried to rush forward, Crowley, Cain and Gabriel holding him back.

“Castiel, this is His will....” Gabriel whispered furiously.

“No.....” Castiel moaned,

Without turning His head, God's eyes flicked back to them slowly, then back to Cartaphilus.

“I do not need to tell you this was what you wanted, Cartaphilus. You know that it is.”

“And is that what you are? Some benevolent deity that just grants wishes? Don't make me laugh. Take one look at all of the misery in the world that you created and it gives voice to that lie.”

“Did you ever stop to think that all of that misery isn't my doing at all? The wishes either?” God asked, his eyes calm and clear. “That the misery that you so eagerly focus upon is nothing more than people fulfilling their own desires, their own wishes, exercising their own Free Will without giving thought to the consequence, or to the balance of their actions?”

Cartaphilus' lips drew to a hateful line. “You....you could have stopped it. At any time. You could have stopped them....created a paradise....it was within your power....”

God smiled sadly, and tears welled up in His eyes.

“It is. You are not wrong. But the misery is not all that is created by Free Will, Cartaphilus, it is truly tragic that it is the only aspect of humanity that you want to see.”

“What are you talking about?” Cartaphilus asked, his voice losing some of it's veracity from moments before.

“What I'm saying, Cartaphilus, is that a simple smile on a person's face, when seeing something wonderful that they have created, is more then I could have ever accomplished with any paradise that I could create. The pure joy of happiness that exists and thrives despite the misery in the world, love, the joy of fighting to bring life to something despite the darkness, that is what it means to be a Creator. To be me. It is the only way. That is my gift to mankind. True Free Will.”

Cartaphilus was silent for a long time, studying God, before speaking. “So you are saying that mankind has done this all to themselves....me as well? If I were to accept that, then what does that mean for you and me?”

“I needed you there for my death the first time, Cartaphilus, and your Free Will brought you there, with a wish to understand the divine. You carried with you your dreams of defying Death to it's end, and to your own ends as well.”

“And you are now telling me that that was simply a coincidence?” Cartaphilus hissed dubiously.

God raised a thin, old eyebrow. “Those things tend to happen quite a lot around me, I'm afraid.”

“That was no Free Will, that was Your design.”

“All things are, in the end, if you insist on boiling it all down, but it was Free Will, Cartaphilus, this is merely the truth.”

“And....you need me again.”

God's eyes smiled and closed as he nodded. “If you choose.”

“And if I don't?”

God looked to his side, and Cartaphilus' eyes followed. Death stood there, looking on expectantly. “I already have created Death, Cartaphilus. He very much wants to retire. I would hate to disappoint him.”

“You wish me to become Death?”

“The job's open,” God smiled. “All of what you wished for.”

“What I....?”

“Exactly what you wished for in your heart, Roman. You cannot hide that from Me. Your fear of Death will be completely removed, as you shall become Death itself. And as Creation lives on, you would be working against it, creating the balance, bringing Death through your actions.” God shrugged. “Your ultimate revenge, if you insist; you'd get to kill everything that I have created in new, horrible and interesting ways for the rest of your life.”

Cartaphilus frowned. “The rest of my....are you saying that I can  _die_ ?”

God smiled. “When you wish to. Cartaphilus....the truth is that you could have done that at any time that you truly wished to. But I don't think that you did. And I  _hope_ that you don't want to now.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, awaiting an answer.

The fire in Cartaphilus' eyes dwindled down, but the short-sword remained poised.

“What....what do I have to do?”

God closed his eyes and lowered his head until the tip of the ancient blade disappeared into the folds of his old and wrinkled neck.

“You just have to take a step forward,” God whispered.

The Roman hesitated, then nodded. Death smiled and exhaled in relief.

And then Cartaphilus stepped forward.

God fell.

Death faded away.

All around them, the Old Gods began to pull back into the shadows, returning to their silent Void, to be left in peace.

Castiel sat on his knees, bent over himself, sobbing, his brothers and Crowley all with their hands on his back.

 


	9. The Fruits of Victory

# The Fruits of Victory

All focus....all attention....all only concentrated on the fifty-year old amber liquid that fell gently through space into the clear air, it's color and malleable shape warping as it met resistance, became trapped and contained within translucent walls, distorting the waves that it kicked up as it landed gently on the smooth floor of it's prison, swirling gently in a chaotic dance, settling against the sides, the coolness held within matching the temperature in the air around it, slowly going still, not a trace of movement, all thought only on this zen dance of transition, this simple act, this motion that could only have possibly symbolized one thing:

Triumph.

Crowley let out a satisfied breath as he took the glass of Glencraig in his hand, gave it another swirl and leaned back in the plush leather chair of his desk, considered the drink seriously for a few seconds, then quickly downed it one burning, smoky, satisfying shot.

“That one's for you, Chuck,” he whispered as he set the still sweating cool glass tumbler down in front of him and smiled tightly. He let out another breath and looked around the opulently appointed office, red leather sofas and Renaissance art - all Caravaggio of course - on all of the walls, flames burning in a black-brick fireplace, and a plush dark gray carpet covering the massive space. The sounds of Wagner drifted lightly thorough the room, giving the place a sense of gravitas, import and doom all at the same time.

That, and the ever-present muted screams of the Damned.

_Ah, Hell_ ,  _sweet Hell_ , Crowley thought, leaning further back and lacing his fingers behind his head.

The office that he had had built rested on the peak of an obsidian tower constructed to mirror not only the neo-gothic style of the Munich Marienplatz, but also with the additions of dark steel and glass, the revival style of Wall Street. It had been done in record time, the newly reconstituted Demons of Hell unquestionably following his orders, finally realizing that he was no upstart, no pretender to the throne that was ripe to be overthrown. No. He was the rightful ruler of Hell.

Finally.

_So why aren't I happy_ ?, he thought angrily, standing up and beginning, for the fiftieth time or so in the last few hours, to pace around the room. He growled low in his throat as he reached the gigantic show window facing the blackened fields, a boiling red sky fluctuating and swirling in magnificent, awe-inspiring patterns as far as he could see.

“Dammit,” he whispered, turning away and pacing back to his mahogany lacquered desk. He stared at it, then proceeded to furiously re-arrange the pens, stapler, hole-puncher, and various accouterments until they looked 'better' to him. He sighed and looked over his work until he found his eyes had settled on the telephone handset.

_Should I_ ?

He grabbed it in a rush and hit the button for the address book, navigating to the 'C's', and finally reaching the entry that read 'Choir-Boy'. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as his thumb hit 'dial.'

“Hello?” came the dry, throaty voice from the other end.

“Choir-Boy!” Crowley exclaimed, opening his eyes and smiling broadly. “So....uh...how're things going up there? Thought I'd check up on you. You know....make sure you haven't botched the whole thing up by now.”

“It's...it's only been less than a month, Crowley.”

Crowley smiled, wincing. “Of course, of course....well?”

“Well what?”

“ _Have_ you managed to screw it all up yet?” Crowley found himself smiling evilly.

“Crowley....no....no, of course I haven't.” Castiel answered hesitantly, question in his voice.

Crowley raised his eyebrows.  _Was_ something actually wrong up there?

“Because,  _if_ there were anything amiss, you do realize that even though technically I am the ruler of Hell, and you are the ruler of Heaven....”

“I'm  _not_ the ruler of Heaven,” Castiel broke in, sounding annoyed. “I'm more like the director of a commune-like hierarchy of elected officials serving in a limited capacity to....”

“Yes, yes, let me stop you there,” Crowley interrupted, holding up a hand and squeezing his eyes shut. “So...how are the kids?”

Castiel paused. “You mean....the ones that were killed in the fight against Cthulhu?”

“Yes, yes, Robert and Angela, right?”

Crowley could almost literally hear Castiel nodding through the phone. “That's them. I've appointed them as full-fledged Archangels now. Properly vested ones, this time.”

“That's....that's good to hear, Castiel....” Crowley replied.

“And....Jesse?” Castiel asked.

“Oh, him? I've released him of all bonds with Hell, at his request, of course,” Crowley answered smoothly, waving an arm through air while pacing slowly in front of the picture window. “Went back to Australia, moved in with a native or something like that. He seemed....happy.”

“That's good to hear,” Castiel answered. There was another voice in the background, an Angel asking Castiel about something. He heard Castiel cover the speaker with his hand, a muttered answer, then Castiel was back on the line, but he didn't talk for a long time.

”Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you call?”

Crowley sighed. “Straight to the point, as always, right, Castiel?” There was silence on the other end of the line as Castiel waited. “I was just wondering if....you get the feeling that we're doing this all wrong?”

“All what?”

“Everything, Castiel....bloody everything!” Crowley yelled, his frustration breaking through, waving his arms. “Heaven....Hell,,,,Angels...Demons.... _everything_ !”

There was another long silence on the other end.

“Crowley....I'm not sure what you mean.”

Crowley let out a breath. “All we've done is re-create the world as it was, Castiel, don't you see the problem inherent in that?”

“Um....”

“That world  _broke_ , Castiel! Didn't you ever stop to consider that we've been handed the ability to literally make everything better, and all we've done is copied the old blueprint?”

“I'm coming down there.”

Crowley pulled the handset away from his ear and stared at it. “What? You're....no, no, don't....”

There was a great rush of air and the rapid flapping of wings, and Crowley looked up across the floor at Castiel standing there, looking the same way he did when they had first met; the ratty, second hand accountant's suit underneath a tan trenchcoat, blue tie hanging askew from his neck, head tilted to the side and watching Crowley expectantly.

“Not sure this is the brightest idea, Castiel,” he muttered, moving behind his desk and pulling out the bottle of Glencraig again, along with two tumblers.

“Why not?”

“Well, aren't we technically supposed to be at war with each other now?”

Castiel looked puzzled. “War? Crowley, why on earth would we be at war with each other?”

“Hello? Heaven? Hell? That whole thing?” He shrugged and poured two glasses full, holding one out to Castiel, who hesitated, then came forward and accepted it, frowning.

“I think the balance is actually now being actively maintained between the clash of negative and positive dimensions, manifested by the dreams and decisions of the living, and the constructions of the dead.” Castiel looked down at the glass in his hand. “You know this won't do anything for me, Crowley. I can't get intoxicated.”

“Don't insult the Craig, Castiel,” Crowley grumbled, winking and raising his glass to his lips. He smacked his lips. “The taste alone is enough to elevate the spirit.”

Castiel considered his drink and then downed it in one quick motion. Crowley watched him expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

“It's....not objectionable....” Castiel said, carefully placing the glass back down on the table with a plink.

Crowley smiled and sat down. “Coming from you, Castiel, I consider that adequate praise indeed.” He tented his fingers, considering. “Speaking of the 'constructions of the dead', how is old Cartaphilus doing in that regard?”

“Taking to the job quite....enthusiastically, I would say,” Castiel said, settling into one of the chairs across from Crowley's desk, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, the flaps of his coat covering the armrests. “I've had to talk to him a couple of times.”

“'Talk'?” Crowley asked, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. He started a biological plague in Central Europe....right in the middle of Vatican City....I think he might have been holding a bit of a grudge....”

“I'll say,” Crowley replied, his eyebrows raised in appreciation and surprise. “And? How did the 'talk' go?”

Castiel sighed and looked to the side. “As well as can be expected. I convinced him to make sure the plague didn't wipe out the entirety of the Church of Rome's leadership. There's a few Cardinals still left....”

Crowley shook his head. “Vicious bastard, isn't he?”

Castiel looked back at him and nodded. “Perfectly suited to the job, it seems.”

“And monsters? What about those? I've heard reports from my Lieutenants on Earth....”

Castiel frowned, looking uncomfortable, shifted in his chair a bit, then nodded back at Crowley. “While they're not being manifested from the Darkness beyond or the Void, they are being manifested from negative energy; nightmares, evil people, and so on.”

“Hmf. That actually....sounds worse,” Crowley muttered.

“In many ways, yes.”

Crowley smiled. “So, I suppose the Winchester boys are not out of business.”

Castiel shook his head no. “Busy as ever.”

Crowley leaned back, considering. “That makes me happy, somehow.”

They sat in silence for awhile, Crowley considering the paintings on the wall, Castiel the flames in the hearth.

“Crowley? You....have Lieutenants on Earth? Demons?”

Crowley blanched, then wove his hand in the air. “Merely to observe, Castiel. Information gathering and such.”

“Huh.”

Crowley watched Castiel as he thought.

“You really meant that, didn't you?” Castiel asked after a while.

“Meant what?”

“That we should be at war....that we're just re-building what was here before....making the same mistakes as....”, he choked a bit, then continued. “....as my Father did.”

Crowley considered this, the sighed, closing his eyes. “I....think so....maybe. I'm afraid so, Castiel.....yes.”

Castiel considered him and nodded slightly.

“But that's not what you want.” Castiel cast his eyes around the office. “This. This isn't what you want.”

Crowley smiled and poured himself another drink, downing it quickly. “I honestly thought so, Castiel. Now....I'm not so sure anymore.”

Castiel Castiel stood up and leaned forward over the desk towards Crowley. “Well then....there  _is_ good news.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “What's that?”

Castiel shrugged. “We can do whatever we want. It's truly just up to us now.” There was a particularly loud scream from outside the window, coming from the depths below them. Castiel winced in sympathetic pain.

“The old ways....maybe you're right, Crowley....maybe there's a way to change all of....” he waved towards the window where the scream had come from. “....that.”

Crowley considered him, then stood up, smiling at Castiel. He held out his hand. “We'll see, Choir-Boy. Maybe....maybe you've inspired me.”

Castiel stared down at Crowley's hand, then grasped it in a firm handshake.

“Well, if you ever need any more inspiration, you know where to reach me.”

Crowley beamed. “I do indeed.”

There was a rush of air, and Castiel was gone.

Crowley rubbed at his chin, walking over slowly to the window.

“Bloody Angel had a point, didn't he....?” he muttered to himself. Crowley clasped his hands behind his back and bent his head down to consider the burning planes of Hell below him. He let out a deep breath.

“Allright....allright....let's get started then....”

 


	10. The Happily Ever After

# The Happily Ever After

Castiel paced back and for the in the small room, phone held to his ear.  “That's good to hear,” Castiel answered Crowley. He was genuinely happy to hear that Jesse was doing well. The kid had been forced into several unfathomably horrible situations that were honestly beyond the scope of one person to handle. He glanced around his diminutive red-stone marble office in the newly renovated Angels-Headquarters and sighed. There was an ironic synchronicity in Jesse's history that played a corresponding role in Castiel's present, that much was crystal clear.

He covered the microphone on his phone with his hand as Angela walked in and nodded to him. Crowley didn't protest.

“Everything's ready for you to go, Castiel,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Who're you talking to? You hardly ever use that thing,” she asked, squinting at the smartphone in Castiel's hand. “Kinda was starting to regret getting it for you.”

“Crowley,” Castiel answered. “And I do use it. I asked them if it was OK to come by earlier.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Like they'd ever say 'no'. C'mon boss.” She smiled at him, then , considering something, frowned slightly. “What does the leader of Hell want with you anyway? He hasn't called in weeks. Ever since the funeral....” she winced as she saw Castiel's reaction. His Father's death was still an open wound. “Sorry....”

Castiel shook his head slightly. “No, it's perfectly all right.” He sighed and looked quizzically at the phone. “Actually, I have no idea why he called. He was....checking up on me....” He frowned. “That's not like him.”

Angela smiled and turned to leave the room. “You could try asking him, you know?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, then nodded. “Of course you're right. Straight to the point.”

Angela wagged a finger at him as she left the room. “Now _that's_ my Boss.” Then she flashed him an even wider smile and closed the door on her way out.

Castiel took his hand off the microphone.

”Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you call?”

It became clear to Castiel during the course of the conversation that Crowley needed a bit of one-on-one. And Angela had said that everything was now ready, so it also provided him an excuse to test out Heaven's new portals that Lindsay had helped him and Heaven's engineers design. She had said it was in principle like a VPN (which Castiel had not understood), in that it would work by attempting to synchronize and match corresponding dimensional energies to mirror the host and destination (which made more sense to Castiel). In short, he could travel to previously unaccessible realms, like Hell, for instance, despite the traditional warding and spells present that were meant to keep beings like Castiel out.

After his visit, he returned to his office and was feeling a great deal better. Not only did the new portals work, but it seemed that he had inspired Crowley to do something  _different_ with Hell than the previous 'management'. It was like he was doing with Heaven; working with the living, providing glimpses of the Afterlife and their unlimited potential to the Souls that could not only handle that information, but benefit themselves and Creation because of it. It was, in Castiel's opinion, a long overdue re-connection of humanity and the 'divine', because the strict hierarchies of Heaven had nearly destroyed both of them. There would be no more 'great mysteries', or, at least, significantly less of them.

Speaking of which, he grimaced and gathered up the supplies and accouterments that he had collected for his next visit, took careful inventory, then, satisfied that everything was in place and that nothing was missing, opened a portal to Earth.

He appeared in the Bunker in front of the large recessed table with the digital alarms placed over a map of the world just as Sam and Dean walked in the front door, trudging down the stairs and looking the worse for wear. Their clothes were ripped up, and they were both bleeding, lightly, thankfully, from several wounds. Dean was limping noticeably, however. He looked up when he saw that someone was standing there.

“Cas?”

“Hello Dean,” Castiel replied. He looked over to his brother and nodded shortly. “Sam.”

“Hey....Cas!” Sam smiled weakly, then grimaced in pain and held his side. “Um, yeah, that was today, wasn't it?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Today was the agreed upon....can I help you two?”

Sam blinked then nodded. “Yeah....yeah, please, that'd be a big help, actually.”

Castiel put down the package that he was carrying and walked over to the base of the stairs. He placed two fingers each on Dean and Sam's foreheads and released a bit of healing Grace into them. There was an audible sigh of relief from Sam, and Dean gave him a typical grunt and a mumble of 'thanks' before moving off towards the table and dumping his gear on the floor with a clatter of metal and wood. He looked up at Castiel and frowned.

“Man, what've you been doin' up there, Cas?”

“Mostly administrative structuring and direction of appointed tasks....it's pretty boring, actually....”

“Yeah, well, it ain't exactly boring down here, pal,” Dean shot back testily. “We just got done putting down a damned Boogeyman. Third one this week, as a matter of fact.”

“A....a what? I'm not familiar with that creature....” He looked over to Sam. “What do the Men of Letters classify that as?”

Sam shrugged. “They don't, it's new.”

“Yeah, as in the  _actual_ Boogeyman, Cas,” Dean interjected, still angry. “These manifestations of real fears are murdering us.” He shook his head. “You'd be surprised how nasty a seven-year-old's nightmares can be....”

Castiel looked away. “I can only guess.”

“Really, Cas?” Dean asked. “Is that really all you can do?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel replied, fixing Dean with a assessing stare.

“What I mean is – aren't you the big muckity-muck up there now? What I mean is, can't you do something about putting a stop to this crap? Vampires, Ghosts and Werewolves were bad enough, Cas, but this....” He shook his head and crossed his arms, looking down at the floor, then back up at Castiel with his eyebrows raised.

Castiel shook his head, closing his eyes. “I'm sorry, I really am, but it just doesn't work that way....”

“No, what you mean is; 'you  _won't_ let it work that way'....”

“Dean...” Sam interjected pleadingly.

“Naw, Sammy, I'm calling  _bullshit_ here! He could make things better wit ha snal of his fingers, and all he's doing is the same crap that the Angels before him did.” He glared at Castiel. “A whole steaming heap of  _nothing_ .”

Castiel glared back. “Dean, if I were to stop this, or curb the flow of negative manifestations, the balance of the  _entire Universe_ would collapse. Do you understand that? I am telling you that I  _can't_ do what you want me to do. Believe me, I want to, I would love nothing better to do it, but  _I_ . _Just_ . _Can't_ .” he emphasized, staring Dean down.

Dean huffed and looked away, waving a hand in the air. “Yeah. Whatever, Cas. I hear ya.”

Sam smiled nervously and strode over to the bundle that Castiel had put down on the table. “So, what's all this?”

Castiel shifted his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Um, some of the Angels and I , we....I mean, I said that I'd come by for a visit and....”

“You brought us presents?” Sam beamed, opening up the bundle and looking inside. He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Whoah.” He smiled wider at Castiel. “Cas, it's awesome man. Thanks.”

“What is it?” Dean asked, craning his neck to see. “I hope it's a Boogeyman-Blaster....”

“Nah, better,” Sam answered.

Dean walked over and looked into the bag, hen he looked at Cas and raised an eyebrow.

“Is that....?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes....um....she insisted.”

Dean looked away, his eyes suddenly misty. “She actually  _made_ this?”

Castiel nodded. “She said it was to make up for buying the store-bought ones all those times....she felt bad about that.”

Dean looked back down and swallowed hard.

“Mom's Pecan Pie. She made this for me like, maybe twice in my whole life.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean reached into the bundle and pulled out a six-pack of beer. “And Extra-Dark.” He looked over at Castiel again and smiled tightly. “OK, Cas. All's forgiven.”

Sam snorted. “You're so easy.”

“Hey, man....this isn't easy....it's a work of frikkin'  _art_ ,” Dean answered, picking up the pie and walking carefully into the kitchen. “I'd suggest that you two follow me here, cause there's no guarantee there's gonna be anything left in a few seconds.”

Sam smiled and clapped Castiel on the shoulder. “Good job, man.”

Castiel smiled back. “Thank you Sam. That means a lot to me.” He frowned as he saw Dean disappear behind the kitchen door. “But we better hurry....I think he was actually pretty serious about that.”

Sam chuckled. “Ya think?” he answered, and then they both hurried off after Dean.

 

***

 

The man looked up from the bloody table, sweating and panicked as the door to the dank chamber opened and someone walked in, shuffling papers on a clipboard like a doctor and smiling down at him.

“Well now....Mr. Simpson, is it? How are we doing today?”

Mr. Simpson groaned and turned his head away. “Just....just get it over with....I know what you're here for....just....just do it already.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “So eager, are we?” He shook his head and sighed, tucking the clipboard under one arm. “Get on with the cutting and splicing and screaming and horrors, all to do it again tomorrow, am I right?”

Mr. Simpson whimpered softly, tears beginning to stream down his face. “There's nothing else....there's nothing else.... _there'snothingelse_ ....” he began to mutter hysterically, burping and hiccuping.

“I see,” the man replied. There was a rustle of papers as the man looked through the clipboard again. There was a low whistle. “Well, you know why you're here, don't you?”

There was a choking sound. “Yes,” Mr. Simpson finally managed.

“Says here your guilty as hell, pardon the pun, and your conscious is nearly filled to capacity with that guilt....a  _very_ special case for me to begin with, Mr. Simpson, I am....quite pleased.”

Mr. Simpson frowned and looked up at the man, who was watching him intently.

“'Begin with'....what are you talking about....? They've been torturing me here for years....”

“Nearly twenty-five years, to be precise,” the man responded. “Says here your name is James. May I call you James, Mr. Simpson?”

“Nobody really calls me that....”

“Good, then. So, James, first off, there will be no torturing today.”

“....wait.... _what_ ?”

“Not unless you think that it's really necessary, James, that's the whole point of it, isn't it? What each individual truly thinks that he or she deserves as opposed to the same rigid, inflexible method of punishment.”

“....um....”

The man beamed. “So, the first question on your first day of reform is this; do you  _truly_ think that you deserve this?”

Mr. Simpson blinked and stared up at the smiling man. “I....”

“You did terrible things.”

Mr. Simpson blinked back tears. “....yes....” he answered weakly.

“And you deserve to be in Hell.”

“Yes....,” Mr. Simpson answered, more strongly than before.

“So, in essence, you actually agree with the daily torture and horrors....”

“No!” Mr. Simpson cried. The man over him raised his eyebrows, waiting. “I mean....yes, I deserve to be here, but  _this_ ....this is too much....”

“I see, so, what you are saying is that Hell's accommodations are not up to your standards? What would you suggest? A day spa? Steak and lobster dinners?”

“No....no....nothing like that....”

“Then  _what_ , James? What do you think that you deserve?”

“Haven't I....haven't I paid the price? They've been cutting on me every day for twenty-five years....every damned day....”

“What do you  _want_ , James?!” the man yelled, leaning in to within inches of Mr. Simpson's face.

Mr. Simpson flinched back as far as he could go, strapped down to the table as he was. “I want....I want...for the torture to....stop....?” he answered hesitantly.

“Good!” the man shouted, clicking off a box on the clipboard. “There's a start. What else?”

“I....I don't know....” Mr. Simpson answered, blinking in disbelief. “Does....does that mean there's no torture today?”

“Believe me or not, James, but that depends entirely upon you. It's the new way,” the man answered, smiling happily. “Now....what else do you want, James? Mind you, let's stay realistic here, this is Hell, after all, and you have already admitted that you do belong here, and, based on what I've read....” he glanced down at the clipboard and shook his head, “....you  _definitely_ do....the question now is, what should your punishment be for now? And please remember; be realistic.”

“I....I don't know, really....I don't....” Mr. Simpson whispered, his eyes wide.

The man smiled at him and tucked the clipboard back away. He tucked his pen back in his suit jacket pocket and untied the stained butcher's apron that had been hanging around his neck. “Fine. Then that's what we'll have to find out together next time. I'll just leave you here to think about it, in the meantime. I, however, have places to go, and many, many people to see, after all.”

“Who....who  _are_ you....?” Mr. Simpson asked, relief and astonishment written all over his face.

“I'm the one that runs things down here,” the man smiled back. “You can just call me Crowley.”

Mr. Simpson's eyes widened further. “You're....you're  _the Devil_ ...?” he whispered.

Crowley smiled back at him. “No, James. Sorry. But the Devil is dead. Welcome to the new Hell.”

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

Geena backed away from the wall that she had just finished painting, nodded to herself, and smiled.

This was the last step in the house's renovation. She carefully replaced the paint roller in the tray, picked up everything, dragged the drop cloth off of the floor, walked out of the front door and dumped everything in the trash bin, along with the rest of the remnants of the old house.

_Finally_ , she thought, walking to her car past the 'For Sale' sign in the yard and opening the door.  _Goodbye_ , _old, cheap dump_ .

The red car roared to life and she spun the tires in the gravel leaving. She looked over at the dash, where a business card was resting. She frowned, reaching for it and reading it.

An F.B.I. logo was emblazoned on the front, with 'Agent Van Zant' written underneath over a contact number, that she already knew to be a complete fraud.

Geena rolled her eyes and huffed, chucking the card out of the window of the moving car.

“Oh please, Winchester,” she muttered as she gunned the engine onto the highway, heading for Beverly Hills. “'Van Zant'. You have to do better than that.”

A half an hour later, the red- sports car pulled into a palatial house and up to a security gate. She reached out and entered a simple three digit code. The gate buzzed and slid open effortlessly. She parked and lowered her window to look at the entryway, where her butler and house staff was assembled and waiting for her.

“Hello Miss Mane,” the butler said promptly, opening her door and stepping expertly back. “I trust that everything was in order back at the old home? That all of the materials that you requested served their....erm....purpose?” he asked, a slight air of disapprovement in his tone.

“A little manual labor is good for the soul, Justin, don't you think?” she answered smoothly, smiling at him. She watched as the staff hustled to unload her single bag from the trunk and move it inside.

“Of course, Madam,” Justin answered. He handed her a newspaper, where her face was on the front page. “And I would like to congratulate you once again on your Lottery win. Truly the stuff of legends, Miss Mane. Over two-billion dollars to a single winner was easily the new record. You have the luck of the blessed, Madam.”

Geena frowned quickly, then recovered and smiled back at her new butler. “I make my own luck, Justin. You'll live longer that way. The 'blessed' end up having the harder time of it, trust me.”

“Very good Madam. And Miss Mane, if I may ask- what is your preferred method of address? Madam, Miss, or....”

Geena smiled, and the light from the California sun made it look to Justin for a second like her eyes had turned a fiery yellow, with swimming red flames and black billowing smoke in them. He startled back for a second, recovered his composure, convincing himself it was a trick of the light, and smiled, waiting for her answer.

“Oh, I could have so many  names, Justin,” she practically purred. “I'll let you guess what mine really is.”

 

_The End of Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions_

 

_Please check back in a few short months for Episode 8, a stand-alone Castiel and Crowley adventure, published with all ten chapters complete. See you there!_

 


End file.
